


Love Is A Sickness (And Lust Is Absolute Madness)

by StevesKhakis (orphan_account)



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: 25k of Steve Harrington being insecure as fuck, A bunch of Gen Z/Millenial humor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down, Anal Fingering, Anal Plug, Anal Sex, Billy Hargrove is a camboy, Billy Hargrove's nipple piercings need a warning, Dude don't even make me tag all of it leave me alone, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Food kink if you squint really hard, Harringrove for Australia (Stranger Things), M/M, Marking, Masturbation, Nasty anal sex shit to be precise, Oral Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Smut, This fic is like bundling up in a cozy sweater, This is just a feelgood fic but with tons of filth, and also bi, but the cozy sweater is unprotected anal sex, people are gay steven
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-06
Updated: 2020-03-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23032942
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/StevesKhakis
Summary: Steve snaps a pic with his hand around his dick, angling the camera so that the stream is visible in the back. He can’t help but stroke a few times before sending it, wishing he had the balls to just put his webcam to good use so SuckMeDead could see him in all of his wet, messy, horny glory.Realistically though, he knows that full-on cybersex isn’t something he’s ready for, not until—Not until he’s made sure this camboy isn’t Billy Hargrove.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 75
Kudos: 396
Collections: harringrove for Australia





	Love Is A Sickness (And Lust Is Absolute Madness)

**Author's Note:**

> :)

“ _Dingus,_ ” Robin calls out sweetly, her voice slurred and distant like she’s a thousand miles away, when in reality she’s just in the back, throwing empty bowls and trays into the industrial dishwasher, “ _DINGUS!_ ” She yells this time, so loud it makes Steve almost throw his phone in the air, jumping where he’s standing behind the register.

“Jesus Christ,” He whines and exhales sharply, putting a hand over his heart for added drama, to which Robin just laughs and rests against the doorframe, all cool like she didn’t just give the boy a heart attack about a millisecond ago, “What crawled up your ass?!”

“You standing there like an idiot instead of helping me, that’s what crawled up my _… Ass?_ ” She actually makes a stink face at that, wrinkled nose and everything.

Steve turns his head around slightly, just enough for her to catch a glimpse of his profile and his arched brows, the corners of his lips curling down as he gestures towards himself and the register, like maybe Robin is slow in the head, “If we’re both back there, who’s gonna be here when a customer enters?”

But it’s a stupid excuse, honestly, and Steve can tell Robin knows he’s just pulling dumb shit out of his ass given the way she just rolls her eyes at him, runs her hands all over her apron to get rid of the flour there —getting a little on the sides of her dark denim skirt on accident, too— and turns on the heels of her heavy boots, going back into the kitchen like she’s too offended to reply.

The place had been fucking empty all day, something about Tuesdays just being extremely slow for some reason, Max and El being the only two familiar faces that had showed up— Mostly because they’re extremely supportive of whatever Steve does, but also because they’re low-key obsessed with Robin’s carrot cake. And the Wi-Fi.

It’s a quarter to six now, and Steve doubts any more customers will stop by at this point,

But, like.

Steve just can’t _move_ from where he’s standing. Can’t even fucking _turn around_ , or anything.

‘Cause the thing is,

The thing is that, uh… Fucking shit.

This is definitely _not_ the first time Steve’s gotten hard in public. The fourth or fifth time, maybe. But that had only happened back in high school, alright? When no amount of jerking off to the thought of Nance all red-faced and squirming under his touch had sufficed to stop his dick from stiffening at rather awkward times, like during basketball practices while the coach rambled on about his teammates being a bunch of ladies or teased them for losing a particularly important game.

So why, at the ripe age of nineteen, has do-gooder, golden boy Steve Harrington popped a boner in the middle of the little café he works at?

Well, if you asked him, he wouldn’t necessarily _agree_ with what is about to be said,

But he just kind of, resorts to porn, like, a lot.

It has gotten to the point in which he follows all of these random camgirls on social media, which is decidedly _not_ normal according to Robin, and honestly,

Sometimes, when a random picture of Mike’s meal or Dustin’s weird Biology project gets squeezed in between a picture of titties under a wet tee and a picture of a camel toe squashed under pink leggings, Steve is prone to believe that Robin is right _,_

But he just can’t help it.

Just the same way he can’t help it when his Pavlovian-conditioned dick kicks as soon as his phone starts buzzing and pinging, because the bastard just _assumes_ it’s a notification from one of these camgirls when in reality it’s probably just Mrs. Henderson asking him if he wants to come over for dinner.

So.

So Steve slides his phone off the bright yellow counter, grabs his small, half-empty messenger bag from under it and presses both objects against his crotch. He glances down at the hard curve in between his legs before covering it, smiling up at him like it just knows _._ _‘Fuck you’_ , he thinks, narrowing his eyes, _‘you can’t fucking control me like this.’_

\---

Turns out, that the rampant erection in between his legs can, in fact, _control_ him.

‘Cause even though Steve is acutely aware that he needs to fold the laundry and clean the rats nest he’s managed to build in his parent’s living room over the last few weeks, he literally kicks his shoes off the second the door closes behind him and beelines towards his laptop. Like a weirdo.

According to the notifications that had popped up on his phone when he was still at _The Palace_ Café, two of the girls he follows have uploaded new content, while another one is going live. The latter had been doing things to him on the drive home, ‘cause there’s something about going at it while it’s happening in real time that almost makes the whole experience feel more _intimate_. Like the other person is present. Or whatever.

Steve’s not a fucking pervert, okay?

But when he sets his laptop on the edge of the coffee table, right next to an empty coffee mug that has been there for quite a few days and an uncharged PS4 controller, he sees something else.

He hunches forward, the glow of the screen casting over his concentrated features, and eyes the preview of a video that sticks out like a sore thumb in the top right corner of the screen, floating under the search bar of the website like some sort of ad.

The first reason why the video sticks out is because it has a royal blue outline that definitely clashes with the general color scheme —white and magenta— of the website that Steve has been using for a handful of months now.

The other reason —which is definitely more prominent but somehow not the first thing Steve sees, because he’s an idiot like that— is that the preview image of the video features a _boy’s_ torso, tan skin and thick dick on display.

‘ _Turning 18 Today_ ’ the tagline announces, and well, Steve’s dick, that probably has a mind of its own by now, decides to jump at that; at the thick dick on Steve’s screen, peeking out of a dirty blonde tuft of curls.

And just like that, he moves the cursor until it’s hovering over the preview. Clicks on it. As a result, a new tab opens up —no incognito or anything because this is such a big part of Steve’s life that he doesn’t have the energy to do that anymore— and he lands on a website that looks exactly like the one he always uses, but this one is all white and blue and features camboy content exclusively—

This means that there are no squishy tits or slick pussies here; no round curves or soft legs,

Just a whole lot of dicks, probably, broad backs and toned arms and hard abs, and,

And loud, heavy metal music playing in the background. _Scorpions._

 _What_?

When Steve finally zones in again, he blinks the birthday boy —well, maybe just his torso— into focus. He’s built, broad, and his muscles are defined. Long blond curls bounce against his neck whenever he shifts on his seat, stopping just above his pierced nipples. Behind him, there’s a bright blue wall, covered in magazine cutouts, dark curtains closed shut and the leg of a bunk bed. It’s presumably a dorm, and if Steve had to guess, he’d say there’s a sock hanging on the other side of the boy’s door.

There’s light bleeding in through the curtains over the windows, making the boy’s freckled skin glow golden as he snorts a laugh, before inhaling sharply and going, “Turn the volume down?” Apparently he’s reading the comments in the chat, “Listen, you salty cunt, you’re the one who’s all up in my goddamn business, not the other way around,” he curls a hand around his dick and draws it up, as if to make a point, “So either deal with it, or get bent.”

_Wow._

This boy is an absolute fucking douchebag. For a brief moment, Steve is reminded of, _uh_ — He thinks that maybe this boy is— No, _no_ , that _can’t_ be. Steve tries to shy away from that thought, but hell, if this boy doesn’t remind him of a certain s _omeone._

But unlike that certain someone, who was absolutely despicable and gross and an overall terrible person and Steve is definitely _not_ thinking about him while he’s got a hard on inside of his pants and porn on his laptop, this boy is somehow…

Charming?

Like, the way he laughs immediately after practically telling a potential customer to fuck off, low and husky, like he knows he’s hot shit, and moves around trying to reach for something while showing a little flash of white teeth and a playful pink tongue seems to be enough to make the people in the chat go absolutely feral, despite the boy being a little piece of garbage.

Comments get lost before he even gets a chance to read them, and a little bell sound on his side of the screen indicates that people are donating credits to him.

Not Steve, though, ‘cause how fucking awful is it that you give money to a stranger —and a very rude one, too— on the internet for getting off in front of his computer?

“ _That’s_ what I’m talking about,” He sneers, and when he gets back into frame he’s holding a cupcake in hand, a little red candle still buried in place, right next to a big bite, “Gotta make that bread, dude. This is a win-win situation, who the fuck cares about the music being too loud, Jesus.” He huffs, and brings the cupcake up to his mouth, licking a long strip of frost off of it in a way Steve definitely does _not_ find painfully suggestive, “The way I see it you should be thankful that I’m showing you some real music— Oh, fuck. Where are my manners?” He questions, straightening up as if he just remembered something, and then he’s reaching out again.

He fiddles with a Zippo, and then lights the candle of his half-eaten cupcake. “It’s my birthday today,” He says nonchalantly, and then brings the cupcake real close to the camera, “Let’s make a wish and get shit going, yeah?”

Steve tells himself that he’s looking at the half-eaten cupcake, not at the pair of wet, pink lips right next to it, slightly parted as if he’s actually waiting for his viewers to do as he says,

And speaking of wishes, Steve is definitely _not_ making one.

His lips make a beautiful _O_ shape, and then he blows the candle. “So what did you losers wish for?”

Steve tears his eyes off the boy and glances at the chat, where viewers are spewing all kinds of indecencies in their rawest forms, talking about how they had wished for him to come on camera, for him to insert a finger in himself,

For him to show his face.

“Don’t trip,” he scoffs, stuffs the rest of the cupcake in his mouth and balls the paper, before tossing it to the side and turning the music down, “Don’t want you thirsty ass _weirdos_ crushing on me.”

Steve feels personally attacked— which is weird, because he does _not_ have a crush. Not on a boy that talks with his mouth full, even if it’s somehow not gross when he does it.

“Those other options, though…” And he chuckles, leaves the unfinished sentence lingering in the air, like a _tease_.

And while birthday boy — _SuckMeDead_ — isn’t exactly doing what he’s being asked, he _is_ slinging one toned, thick leg over the armrest of his chair, thighs splayed over, giving Steve, and the others, a full view.

Steve’s pretty sure he’s never seen a boy like this— Yeah, there had been plenty of naked men in all the straight porn vids he’d seen in the past, with their legs flexing in weird angles and their butt-cheeks wiggling in the air as they thrusted away, but his primary focus had always been the girls being fucked and anyways, even if he had actually been paying attention to the boys, they sure as hell didn’t have legs as nice as this dude’s, all toned muscle covered in sun-kissed skin, it almost reminds Steve _of_ —

“ _Shit_ ,” _SuckMeDead_ hisses, a hand curled around his dick, languidly stroking up and down his length, taking his sweet goddamn time, like he’s truly enjoying it, like he’s doing this whole thing entirely for himself and if there happen to be a few creeps on the internet who are watching him do it— Well, they’re just lucky _._

Steve stops functioning when he moans. On the screen, it looks like the boy’s head is softly lulling to the side, a dark flush gradually spreading all over his chest. The slick sound of skin on skin, of his big hand stroking his dick steadily, already picking up a pace, is getting obscenely louder. He spasms just the tiniest bit, and his free hand mindlessly reaches for a nipple, pinching it in between his fingers, _playing_ with it.

“ _Fuck_ — Fuck, that’s _good_ ,” and it’s a half groan, half hiss of a thing that has Steve’s breath hitching.

Up until now, he didn’t know that boy nipples were sensitive enough to make a guy get that loud _,_ that fucking _vocal._ Steve knows it’s probably part of the illusion, but that doesn’t matter, ‘cause his dick doesn’t, and _hell_ , does this boy sound hot when he’s hissing out curses. He’s fucking up into his own hand, his open mouth only visible if he moves abruptly enough for it to get in frame, his breathing is growing louder, shorter.

The chat fills with cucumbers, droplets and astonished faces.

It’s honestly fucking _devastating_ , how turned on Steve is becoming by this whole thing.

When _SuckMeDead_ starts stroking faster and twisting his wrist on the upstroke, it makes Steve’s own dick pulse like a second heart where it’s been left unattended, tucked inside of his cream-colored slacks.

He tells himself that he doesn’t need to do anything about that, though, ‘cause it’s not like he has been dying to jerk off ever since he was behind the register at the café. It’s not like this guy, hissing and cursing and fucking panting is making Steve’s stomach pull absolutely taut.

_Sure, whatever._

“Y’all are nothing but a bunch of freaks, huh?” The bastard sneers, arrogant and breathless, and then chuckles a little. His voice is husky and absolutely wrecked. He brings his other hand up, and his lips, still half in frame, suck around not one but _two_ fingers.

He moans, like he really likes having shit in his mouth. Like he enjoys having his tongue busy around something. For a split second, Steve internally decides that he could give this boy what he wants— He knows he has what it takes to keep those pink lips working until they’re sore.

That’s kinda fucked up, though.

So.

So Steve clears his throat and straightens where he’s sitting right by the edge of the couch.

Meanwhile, _SuckMeDead_ , all sweaty and with single-minded determination is reaching down, slowly sliding those slick fingers in between his cheeks with a groan. “You gonna come to the sight of me finger fucking myself? Bet you’re touching yourself too, aren’t ya? Bet you’re— _Fuck,_ ” he pants, “making a goddamn _mess_ —”

He’s _gasping_ , and his thighs get all tense.

Steve’s jaw drops, his stomach pulls taut and his dick throbs— The hot, white wave of desire threatening to make him spill and spasm in his pants any second now.

He opens his fly and shoves his hand inside his pants unceremoniously, trying to convince himself that he’s only doing this because he has no other choice, not because he’s enjoying it.

‘Cause he’s _not_ enjoying it.

It’s not like he’s really actually _genuinely_ turned on by this, he’s just desperate to come. He’s been horny all day, that’s all.

And it feels like an entire lifetime— no, _two_ lifetimes have gone by since the last time he got his dick wet, anyways. Before the whole ‘ _bullshit’_ incident with Nance went down, which was forever ago, by the way. He’s practically blind out of pure desire at this point, and his dick can’t tell the fucking difference, right?

_Right?_

So he starts stroking himself, more desperately than he’d ever admit to anyone, while _SuckMeDead_ is teasing his rim. His square fingers are circling are around the tightness, pressing on it just enough to coax hisses and moans out of his own mouth, strong hips thrusting up, arching off his chair like he’s searching for more, like he’s desperate for whatever his hands can give him,

Like he needs to _come_ , too.

His hips stutter a little, and then it looks like he’s softly, quietly chanting strings of curse words to himself. And that’s the thing—

The _thing_ is that this shit’s not real.

It’s a _fantasy,_ and Steve is fully aware. These people, they will often go the extra mile to make the viewers feel good, and cared for and _wanted_ — all for higher bids. It’s a stunt, and like any other job, they’re exchanging a service for a way to make ends meet.

This boy, though.

Nothing of what he’s doing seems to be a show. There’s something painfully raw and _real_ in the way he’s pleasuring himself, absolutely focused on the reactions his own body is having and nothing else.

It's like watching someone without them knowing, and it is completely wrecking Steve, who’s just beating his meat mindlessly by now, too engaged with what’s happening on screen to control what his hand is doing.

There's sweat rolling down the other boy’s chest, blond curls sticking to his neck. Steve can’t really see it, but it seems like he’s staring down at his lap, at his own dick as a bead of pre builds on the head, completely wrapped up in his own arousal.

When he starts to push those two digits past the tight ring of muscle, he gasps like it _burns._ His other hand takes a break from working on the shaft to focus on the head, fingers dipping on the milky arousal and traveling down to cup his balls with a groan—

With a hand softly fumbling with his sac, and a couple of fingers sliding into his tight heat all the way up to his second knuckle, he moans loud like he has completely forgotten he's on camera.

It’s— holy fucking _shit_ ,

It’s _a lot_ , goddamnit.

Next thing Steve knows, his own knees are drawing together and he’s choking on spit, gasping real wet.

Then, he’s spilling all over himself.

His breathing comes out hard and sharp as he strokes himself idly through the aftermath, drawing out the last waves of pleasure as his eyes narrow on _SuckMeDead_.

And _SuckMeDead_ —Well, he’s working a third finger in himself, the little bell ringing and ringing and _ringing_ as he gets more tips than he probably needs.

Steve tries to ignore the tingling prickle of shame beginning to build in his gut, by turning his laptop off. ‘Cause, like.

_What the fuck._

\---

“ _Okay_ —” Robin repeats for what feels like the hundredth time, “Let me try and wrap my head around this real quick,” She says cautiously, and frowns as if she’s concentrating extremely hard, “So, you’re telling me that you _may or may not have_ masturbated to a boy on _accident?_ ” She asks, her voice getting quieter as she reaches the end of the question, like Steve is a deer that could freak out and run away if she spoke too loud.

“Yeah, I—” Steve’s lips purse, because it really _does_ sound like bullshit when Robin says it like that, “ _Yeah_. Yeah, uh, that’s what happened.”

Robin huffs and turns the mixer off, “You know I don’t buy that, Dingus.”

Robin is his friend, and she’s truly trying to be understanding about this whole thing. Steve can tell, given the way she’s smiling at him, all soft and cute. Still, he can’t help but feel his stomach sinking, and so he hurries to grab the cupcakes from where they had been left to cool down.

“How do you even land on a _gay porn_ website to begin with?”

Steve kind of hates the way Robin talks about these topics all nonchalantly, like it’s not a big deal. ‘Cause it _is_ a big deal, and thank God their boss rarely shows up.

“Well, apparently the website I always use is trying to expand or some shit, and now they have other websites to host other types of content, and,” he turns around and walks towards her, holding two tins full of now cooled-down red velvet cupcakes, “I dunno, the video literally appeared on the corner of the screen. Or _something_. I didn’t look much into it.”

By _‘I didn’t look much into it’_ what Steve _really_ means is _‘I stopped caring about everything else once I noticed there was a dick in front of me’_ but Robin doesn’t need to know that, though.

“Are you sure the ad is not, like, _based_ on your browsing history?” She giggles, and the sound has Steve’s nose scrunching up, like an angry puppy, as he sets the tins on the counter with loud clanks. The giggling turns into cackling, and she slaps a hand on his shoulder, “I’m just playing with you, stupid!”

Steve just snorts, then mutters, “ _Bitch.”_

“I can kind of see how one could end up in a gay porn website, though.” She says as she pads towards the opposite side of the kitchen, and Steve busies himself by taking the cupcakes out of the tins and setting them up in a wire rack. When Robin comes back to stand beside him, she has a rubber spoon in one hand and a pastry bag in the other and a “It’s the jerking off part that I don’t understand. How do you masturbate to something _on accident_?” in her mouth.

Steve runs a hand through his hair and makes it stick up in all directions, inhales deeply like he’s ready to say something, but eventually he just scratches his right eyebrow and makes a sound like he’s deflating. He has nothing to say, and Robin can’t be bothered to look at him, too busy scooping frosting into the pastry bag like she just _knows_.

‘Cause she always _knows_.

“I think you’re panicking over nothing.” She says, and shrugs a little.

Steve snorts _again_ , “Over _nothing?_ Robin, we’re talking about the possibility of me being—” _Gay? Bisexual_? Steve sucks in a breath, “ _Not_ straight.”

Robin finally deigns to stand up straight and look at Steve, not before rolling her eyes at him, though. “This does _not_ mean you’re _‘not straight’_ ” When she brings her hands up to make air quotes, the pastry bag wiggles all weird, “People's personal turn-ons don't always correlate with their sexual orientation.”

“ _Okay_ ,” Steve swings his arms nervously, “But what if it _does_ correlate this time? Like, what if I do, you know, uh… Like boys _?_ ”

Robin gives him a funny look, twists the end of the pastry bag so the frosting doesn’t spill out and then tilts her head, “Then you like boys, Dingus.”

“I still like girls, though. It’s just that—”

Robin puffs out a breath, “People can like _both,_ my guy. Not a big deal.”

And then she goes back to work on her stupid red velvet cupcakes like this shit is normal and _not_ the end of the fucking world, the end of _Steve’s_ world, ‘cause _, holy fucking shit, okay_ —

Okay— Maybe Robin is _right,_ maybe beating his meat to a random camboy on the internet once or twice does not make Steve gay, but, but,

But the thing is that _SuckMeDead_ won’t show his face when he’s streaming, Steve has managed to catch him twice in the past few days and the guy has _refused_ to do so each time, and consequently, Steve’s imagination has been more than happy to fill in the gaps with—

With Billy Hargrove’s face.

Steve likes to think he has a good amount of self-control. He likes to think he’s good when it comes to logical reasoning, but _hell_ , if he can’t stop thinking about the bastard. And even though they had always been closer to rivalry than to friendship, and he’s pretty sure Billy still loathes his guts, he can’t help but wish _SuckMeDead_ and Billy were the same person.

Steve’s not too familiar with Robin’s standards, but he’s sure that’s pretty damn _gay_.

And, like. It's _fine_. Steve understands that _maybe_ his brain is doing that because both Billy and _SuckMeDead_ are built the same way, have the same complexion and the same douchy attitude. It’s not like she needs to know that, either.

Just like she doesn’t need to know that he has been on the verge of popping a boner for nearly two hours now, seeing Robin’s goddamn cupcakes and thinking about the way _SuckMeDead_ had licked the frosting off of his before sinking his white, sharp teeth in it.

Steve’s positively screwed _._

“ _Jesus_.” Is all he can manage to say. That, and, “Jesus fucking _Christ—_ ”

Then he’s absent-mindedly rubbing his eyes with his hands. Robin frowns, leaves the pastry bag on the counter and grabs him by the shoulders, shaking him gently. “Dingus, it’s okay. Really, it is. You’ve known I’m gay for a while now, right? I’m _normal,_ ” She laughs awkwardly, “Or do I look like some sort of alien _freakazoid_ with two heads to you?”

“No, you’re _—No, no,_ you’re,” His voice falters a little, cracks, “ _Bomb._ ”

“So are _you_ , Dingus. So are you.” She sniffs, and Steve really hopes she’s not crying, ‘cause that would surely get his waterworks to start flowing, “This whole thing is normal. _You_ are perfectly normal.” She wraps her arms around him and he allows it to happen, but doesn’t really participate. It’s like his brain has disconnected from the rest of his body and can’t process what’s going on. “Liking boys is… Dope. I guess.”

As if coming to a realization about what’s happening, Steve places his hands butterfly-light on Robin’s waist and squeezes a little, “As if you’d know.”

“Shut up.”

They stay like that for a while, hugging and laughing and Robin is whispering the sweetest, warmest, most encouraging shit in Steve’s ear while rubbing reassuring circles on his back. After pulling away, she just arches her brows all silly and loudly states, “It’s the roaring twenties, Dingus! Everyone’s queer.”

The doorbell rings, and both of them turn over their shoulders to peek through the big window that connects the kitchen and the front area together.

Max is storming into the café _—_ A fiery red fuzz practically glowing against the dusty old indigo walls as she walks past the little yellow tables and towards the register. Just a few steps behind, Eleven is sporting a shimmery pout and her eyes are absolutely trained on her phone as she taps and taps and _taps_ on the screen.

Robin nods at Steve once, a clear indication that he’s supposed to go to the front while she finishes decorating her cupcakes.

“Girls _—_ ” He announces as soon as he barges out, sniffing and flashing them a crooked smile, opening his arms animatedly. Max juts her chin up and grins, opening her arms too, practically throwing herself at Steve like an overgrown ginger tabby.

He’s still squeezing the girl with his eyes screwed shut when he feels a small hand patting him on the head and little lips pecking him on the cheek. That’s Eleven, standing on her tippy-toes.

Behind their laptops and their books, a few of the customers are side-eyeing the exchange. Steve knows they’re new, because the regulars are used to seeing all the different members of the gang stopping by and squeezing Steve until his eyeballs threaten to pop out of their sockets at least twice a day, thrice on weekends.

“ _Heya_ , Robin!” Max squeals.

“ _’Sup, little lady!_ ” She squeals back, from the kitchen. “ _I saved you girls some carrot cake! Give me a sec!_ ”

Robin loves adding extra cream cheese frosting to the slices of cake she saves for them, so that little piece of information has Eleven cracking a tiny smile and clapping few times, right before she goes back to frowning down at her phone like it has personally offended her.

“How’s school going?” Steve questions, taking his place behind the register, both girls standing in front of him. They’re starting to look taller, they’re gradually growing out of their baby faces and Hopper is finally letting El wear a little makeup. Steve does not want to be one of those annoying ass adults but, fuck _—_ When did they grow up so much?

A scowl etches over Max’s face and she props her elbows on top of the counter, “Fine, I guess. _Boring._ We’re doing well, though.” Steve doesn’t say anything, he just nods and smiles lazily, “El is struggling a little with English, but we’re all helping her. Especially Mike, _Jeez,_ ” Max snorts, then rolls her eyes, “The guy would probably do her homework for her if she let him. Right, El?”

El looks at Max, then at Steve, then _frowns_. “Mouth-breather.” She states, tone firm.

An exaggerated gasp leaves Max’s tiny lips, and Steve holds his hands up, feigning innocence.

“ _Mike_?” Steve makes a face.

Max huffs, exasperated, “What did he _do_?”

“Boyfriends lie.” Is all El adds. Steve kinda wants to tell her she’s wrong, because he had never lied to Nancy, not once— if anything, _she_ was the one to lie to him, but. El’s voice brooks no arguments.

So.

“Gimme _that_ ,” Max huffs, and snatches El’s phone from her tiny, delicate hands. She places her thumb on the screen and brings the speaker up to her lips. “ _Listen,_ you fu— _freaking_ piece of trash, this is Max!” She spits, and Steve can swear her eyes look bluer when she’s pissed. Next to her, Eleven is completely agape, hands frozen midair as if she hasn’t registered the fact that she’s not holding the phone anymore.

“What did you do to El this time, huh?” Max demands. Like Mike owes some kind of explanation to her. “I’m warning you, Wheeler! You hurt her one more time and your sorry ass will suffer indescribable pain for the rest of your stupid life—”

“ _Woah_ , hey Max,” Steve tries protesting, but Max holds a finger up in the air.

“No, Steve! I’ll deadass knock his balls off if he keeps pulling this stunt!” She sputters, gasping at Steve like he doesn’t get it. Maybe he doesn’t. She brings the phone even closer to her lips, “Did you hear _that,_ Mike? I’m not afraid to knock your balls off!”

“ _Holy shit_ ,” Robin sighs tiredly, pushing the door open with her elbow and holding two plates with cake, “What’s gotten over her?”

“Boyfriends lie.” Eleven repeats, knowingly.

“Yeah, I—” She closes her mouth, then opens it, “I wouldn’t know.” She slides the plates to the opposite sides of the counter, then drags her hands across her face, “Is she going off on Lucas, or…”

“ _Mike_.” Both Steve and El say.

“Well, _damn_. She’s got some anger issues going on,” Robin snorts, “She gets that from Billy.”

_Billy._

Just hearing his name makes Steve’s ears perk up, though he can only hope he’s disguising it well.

El lifts her foot and stomps it on the floor, then yanks the phone from Max’s freckled hands, “ _Stop_.” She demands, an undertone of authority very present in her voice.

Max hunches a little, “ _Fine_ ,” She whines, “But he’s been warned.”

“Yeah, I think we’ve _all_ been warned.” Robin says, gesturing wildly at the customers.

Max gives her a tight smile and mutters a tiny little ‘ _sorry_ ’. Meanwhile, El is clutching her phone close to her chest and stabbing her slice of cake, probably pretending that it’s Mike’s head.

“So, Max, uh…” Steve clears his throat, “How’s your bro—How’s Billy. Doing.” It had sounded a lot smoother in his head, and Steve spends the following six seconds hating himself, debating on whether he should rephrase that or beg Max to forget about it.

“ _Billy_?” She glares at him, incredulous, “I thought he had been cancelled.” Then grabs her fork and starts gnashing her slice of carrot cake away.

“Yeah, you thought he had been— Wait, what’s… What do you mean he’s been _cancelled_?”

“You know, after all the stupid beef.” Max makes a stink face, waves her fork in the air, “Didn't think you guys would be in the best of terms.”

“Well, we _aren't_ ,” Steve clarifies, and he’s genuinely trying his best to ignore Robin’s intense gaze, drilling holes on the side of his head, “I _just_ — I don’t know. Because— because Robin mentioned him I just, like. _Thought_ about him.”

_‘You know I don’t buy that, Dingus.’_

“He went back to Cali after he was done with school.” She’s scraping the frosting off her slice of cake, “I’m glad he did, he’s a lot better now.”

“Living his best life.” Eleven adds.

Max giggles, “Honestly, though. He sends me pictures, like, _nonstop_.”

Then she’s unzipping the burgundy fanny pack she’s wearing over her shoulder and reaching for her phone. Steve can’t help but wonder what the protocol is for when straight boys are looking at other straight boys pictures— _Especially_ when said straight boys had spent the last year being rivals.

Is he supposed to just eye the picture for a few seconds and act like he doesn’t care? Or is he allowed to, like, zoom in and shit?

“See?”

Steve’s fingers twitch the second Max hands him the phone. Screw that stupid protocol, he’s gonna pinch that goddamn screen and he’s gonna take a good look at it.

The first thing Steve notices is that the boy has a considerable amount of freckles now. It’s probably a consequence of spending too much time under the sun, and they’re peppered all over the bridge of his nose and his shoulders. They make him look younger, and fresher, and hot as sin, and for a split second Steve goes back to _SuckMeDead_ , ‘cause whoever that guy might be,

He has freckles all over his shoulders, too. The realization kicks Steve right in the throat— No, _really_. It physically pains him, and he immediately shies away from the thought.

This is decidedly not healthy.

Billy’s hair —shinier and lighter than it had been while he was in Hawkins— is pulled up into a messy bun, a few stubborn curls framing his gorgeous features; the thick eyelashes, the little slit in his eyebrow and the bottom lip captive in between white teeth give his face a general sense of concentration. His entire upper body is hunched over a lime green surfboard, and it looks like he’s rubbing wax all over it.

It’s a nice juxtaposition, Steve thinks, to the angry Billy Hargrove that had tossed his plastic crown into a trash can and burnt rubber almost immediately after being voted Prom King. It had happened _months_ ago, but Steve still remembers the way he had looked angrier and _angrier_ ,

The way his skin had turned paler and _paler_ ,

Until he left the picture, just the same way as he entered it: with the loud roar of his engine and a thick trail of smoke dancing behind him. Steve never saw him again after that,

And although he had convinced himself that he should have felt relieved about that, he never did.

“That’s his workplace,” Max says around a mouthful of cake. There’s a delicate finger with a little nail coated in chipped blue nail polish pointing at the wall behind Billy, where all kinds of colorful boards are hung on top of each other in a decorative manner, “He’s the coolest.” Max affirms, and when Steve finally peels his bambi eyes from the screen to look at her, she’s looking all smug, like she’s actually really _proud_ of Billy and his glow up.

“So he’s not studying?” Robin asks.

“No.” Max’s face drops a little, “Soon, though. He’s saving money for it.”

If the whole freckle situation had made Steve’s stomach flutter in anticipation, this makes it _sink._ Billy is _not_ attending university; he’s working full-time at a random surf shop in California, and, well— Steve is pretty sure _SuckMeDead_ does all of his livestreams from a dorm.

So.

So Steve hands Max her phone back and scratches his head as he watches both girls grab their plates and sit at a table nearby.

Robin puffs out a breath, “ _Huh_.”

Steve turns to her, “What?”

“It’s nothing.” She murmurs thoughtfully, but it doesn’t sound genuine, “It’s _nothing!_ ”

\---

When Steve gets the next notification that _SuckMeDead_ is streaming, it’s a quarter past twelve and he’s getting out of his en-suite bathroom after a bath that was for sure way too goddamn long.

After that curious exchange with Max, he had spent the rest of the day feeling pensive, and frustrated, and too tight in his chest. He had tried to work some of his distress off by cleaning around the house, but even with the rats’ nest of his living room completely gone, he still felt a bit like letting a car T-bone him.

If Steve had to guess, he’d say that what he’s experiencing feels a damn lot like heartbreak, but somehow not quite the same,

‘Cause his eyes had been fixated on the _Butterball_ fizzing away inside of his bath-tub when the realization hit him—

Nothing of what he’s feeling right now is new; he just happened to have done an outstanding job at ignoring it— And while his passion for cybernetic dick is a fairly new acquired taste, his enthusiasm for trash king Billy Hargrove _isn’t_.

Suddenly the dark feeling that had washed over him while he was standing under a tree, watching Billy backing out of the Hawkins High parking lot makes sense. And every goddamn drop of spunk that had gone down the drains of the locker room’s shower stalls after popping a random boner during basketball seems like a total waste _._

 _Fuck,_ if only Steve had gotten his own head out of his ass sooner rather than later then maybe _,_ just fucking _maybe,_ he could have—

He could have done absolutely _nothing_ about it. Not a _damn thing._

‘Cause not only had Billy made it pretty clear that he hates Steve with a passion, it was also a given that he’s straight,

Billy Hargrove is fucking straight, unlike Steve. And the smallest, most subtle suggestion of Steve having felt any sort of attraction towards the boy would have definitely earned him a good beating. For all Steve knows, Billy would have harassed him and kicked him in the stomach until he was curling on himself and had no other choice but to change his name and leave the country.

So.

So Steve just closes his mental drawer shut and pads towards his bed. Turns his laptop on, ‘cause what the fuck is self-respect? Steve doesn’t know her.

When he logs in, he’s greeted immediately with the sight of _SuckMeDead_ wearing an obnoxious, oversized Hawaiian shirt, buttons undone all the way down to his navel, like usual. He’s also wearing a pair of too short shorts, although that’s debatable— with thighs like that, Steve is more than quick to decide that there is no such a thing.

He’s not even going to try and conceal the fact that his dick is already a miserable half-chub thing under his towel.

The boy on screen is swaying softly to Post Malone’s _Take What You Want_ , the clip of a joint pinched in between his thumb and his index finger. He takes one final hit, turns slowly, props one hand on his chair and leans in, presumably trying to put the roach out somewhere.

Steve’s _almost_ drooling. He wants to run his fingers all the way from those smooth pectorals, to his abdominals— Wants to feel the glide of freckled skin under his touch. He wonders whether his muscles would quiver under his fingertips, or if he’d lick his lower lip while staring down at the slender fingers breaking goosebumps all over his skin, but maybe he’s just projecting.

“’Sup, boys and girls,” He says, and his voice is low and hoarse, “And others,” He grins all dope, the white smoke spilling out in weird, shapeless streaks, “I had figured it was too late to go live, but it wouldn’t have been very nice of me to beat one off before going to sleep without sharing, huh?”

It’s kind of pathetic, the way tips begin rolling in unsolicited. The way all kinds of inappropriate comments pour in the chat explosively. That’s mainly the reason why Steve feels like participating tonight,

‘Cause he just has to be the weirdo that tries to put _SuckMeDead’s_ arrogant ass back into place.

Steve soon finds that he sucks at creating usernames, though, and as nice as _TheKing_ had sounded in his head, now, typed on screen, it seems lame. It’s kinda late already, when his comment is making a stupid ping sound as it pops on screen.

**_TheKing: what happened to your shorts? did they shrink in the dryer?_ **

_SuckMeDead_ leans forward, worrying his lower lip. Then he snorts, “The only thing that has shrunk here is your _dick_ , asswipe.”

A shit-eating grin creeps into the visible portion of his face, and before Steve can think to say something else, _SuckMeDead_ is hooking his thumbs on his waistband and sliding the shorts down, stepping out of them quickly once they’ve hit the floor.

“Better, _asshole?_ ” _SuckMeDead_ questions with his usual bite, and the outline of a thick bulge brushes easily against the fabric of his button-down shirt. Of course he wasn’t wearing _anything_ underneath his shorts.

Steve’s fingers twitch before they can touch the keyboard.

The chat explodes. Following Steve’s same pattern, other viewers begin taunting _SuckMeDead_ , letting him know that his shirt is, in fact, _too_ _big_.

“If y’all wanna get me naked you know what you gotta do,” he cackles, “And this ain’t it. Get outta here, following this dude’s lead. He’s gonna think he’s hot shit or _something_.”

**_TheKing: what can I say? people tend to follow my lead_ **

The boy stands there, resting both of his forearms against the backrest of his chair before he slowly leans in and goes “I wouldn’t be so cocky if I was _you_ , though. I have experience bending kings.”

 _No,_ there’s _no_ way in hell.

_There’s no way, right?_

_SuckMeDead_ is _not_ Billy, and Billy is, decidedly, _not_ a fucking camboy. He works at a surf shop, and he spends his days being the straight-dude-no-homo-bro he had always been, and Steve is so, _so_ goddamn _stupid_.

He blinks his screen into focus again and _SuckMeDead_ is nowhere to be found. There’s the sound of objects shuffling over the beat of some Travis Scott tune, though, and his voice sounds muffled when he goes, “ _So, are we gonna wait ‘til all the losers and their king fall asleep so I can show y’all what I got or what_?”

He sits unceremoniously on his chair and props a foot on the edge of the seat, making his leg flex close to his chest, “Or maybe letting them see what they’re about to miss sounds like a better deal?” He shifts a little, and his shirt slides off his shoulder and rucks up his thigh, exposing just enough skin for Steve to develop a severe case of cottonmouth.

He’s holding a small black and pink box in his hand, unfolding the flaps with his free fingers before letting them slip inside. “I’ve been _dying_ to show y’all this, but I was too busy with school shit.”

Steve swears he falls a little bit in love with that.

He wonders if this guy is a good student; ‘cause he sure as hell remembers Nancy telling him that she and Billy shared a few AP classes. She had been shocked at first, but then it had only seemed natural— Billy worked really hard for his grades.

Too bad he, apparently, didn’t get a scholarship. Steve is sure he deserved it.

Steve scrubs his hand on his face rather harshly, ‘cause how come he’s thinking about this shit while in the middle of a jerk off session?

 _SuckMeDead_ pulls a wonky little pink silicone object that looks like two rubber balls joined together, with a tiny rubber string attached to one of the ends, out of the box. Steve is only a little ashamed to admit he recognizes the shape of it, having seen about a million of those before, while porn surfing.

Steve’s positive he knows where this is going.

“I’m pretty sure y’all have seen these bad boys before,” He says, and holds it up to the camera like he’s some goddamn beauty guru showing his audience the PR product he has just received. “But this one is a lot more fun, ‘cause it can be controlled from literally _anywhere,_ and whoever buys a private session tonight gets to try it with me.”

That’s _not_ where Steve thought this was going.

Needless to say, he’s nearly apocalyptic with want by the time _SuckMeDead_ finishes his goddamn sentence, sharp canines glistening mischievously near the top left corner of the screen.

Steve’s slamming on that ‘ _Go Private_ ’ button before he can think better of it, and everyone in the chat starts griping about how unfair it is that they didn’t even get to see the toy in action. According to them, _TheKing_ doesn’t deserve to witness such a show, considering he had been rather rude to _SuckMeDead_ earlier.

But that’s just too bad, isn’t it? He can _pay_ for it.

There’s a pop up screen asking Steve if he’s sure he wants to go on with the transaction, asking him if he really wants to spend _three hundred bucks_ to see a faceless torso fucking himself with a rubber toy. He can almost picture Robin throwing him an accusatory glare.

Steve clicks ‘ _yes_ ’ and then he’s in.

“ _Goddamn_ , if that wasn’t quick.” Is what _SuckMeDead_ says after a few seconds of silence. “Sorry guys, looks like _The Royalty_ has bought me for the night. See ya.”

He switches screen, and then there’s the two of them, _alone_. A little chat box blinks green at Steve from the bottom right corner.

It’s… It’s a lot. And _Steve_ —

“Weren’t you the guy who was tryna roast me like ten minutes ago?” _SuckMeDead_ questions and Steve can hear the smirk in his voice, “Are you into, like, _humiliation_?” he gestures with the hand that’s holding the toy, “Or are you just a little entitled fuck? I kinda dig _both_ , not gonna lie.”

 _Steve_ wasn’t prepared for it, and it’s fucking _terrifying._

He feels his heart race at the thought of _SuckMeDead_ acknowledging his existence, of having his attention focused exclusively on him, of having certain liberties no one else has, at least for tonight. In the privacy of his stupid brain, he admits that he pretty much feels like crawling out of his goddamn skin.

And, like. Steve knows this is _nothing_ like sex— _Hell_ , this is _miles_ away from sex, but, but,

Steve can make _SuckMeDead_ _come_ like this, he can fucking _see_ it while it’s happening, too.

He feels a hot thrill coursing down his spine as he tries to deliberately even out his breathing. That’s pretty much the only thing keeping him from logging off, from pretending he had a stroke. Or _something_.

His fingertips feel clammy as he taps on his keyboard.

**_TheKing: i was just fucking with you_ **

**_TheKing: don’t think i have any kinks tbh_ **

“Yeah, _right._ ” _SuckMeDead_ snorts, “Everyone’s got one. Maybe you just haven’t found _yours_. How old are you?”

**_TheKing: 19_ **

The boy huffs, mouth curving up, like he’s entertained, “Does your daddy know you’re spending his money on _camboys_?”

**_TheKing: why are you talking about my dad while you’re naked? Pls explain_ **

**_TheKing: daddy issues?_ **

_SuckMeDead_ fucking cackles at that; a warm, genuine laugh of a thing bursting straight from his belly. It certainly has the corners of Steve’s eyes wrinkling, and he _really_ wishes he could compare this boy’s laugh to Billy’s, but truth be told, aside from the maniacal fits of cackling he sometimes blurted out when he was doing mean shit, Steve _never_ heard him laugh.

“Get outta here with _that_.” He straightens out, still holding his abdomen with his free hand, inhaling deeply a few times. He shifts on his seat, and thank _God_ , ‘cause it allows Steve to see the exact moment in which he licks his lower lip while reading Steve’s response. He nips at it, too, like this whole thing is just as exciting for _him_ as it is for Steve.

The little chat makes a ping sound, and when Steve opens it, the name of the App is there. It’s cheesy, slightly feminine, but Steve can’t really bring himself to mind, not when all of his blood is leaving his brain and being redirected _south_.

So he grabs his phone and starts tapping on the screen immediately. The app is at the very top of the list, and it’s got a stellar 5.0 rating. It does nothing but make Steve’s excitement go up like bubbles on a cold glass of coke, and if he’s slightly annoyed that the download is taking a little too long, well, just give the boy a fucking grace period, yeah?

“ _So_ ,” _SuckMeDead_ starts saying, drawling the ‘o’, making Steve’s eyes dart to the screen instantly, taking in the sight of the boy squirting a gross amount of lube in the palm of his hand, “Care to tell me why I’m seeing a black screen and not your face _, King_? I feel _cheated.”_

There’s a shitton of reasons why Steve thinks that showing himself to _SuckMeDead_ would be a terrible idea, and all of them are kinda _stupid_.

Steve knows he looks good. He just _knows_ it, okay? He’s familiar with the concept of mirrors. He also remembers, very vividly, the way most girls would look at him at school.

Even _Billy_ stared a little _too_ much, sometimes.

But after that unfortunate chain of events with Nancy and Jonathan, followed by the quick disintegration of their relationship, well, his confidence disintegrated a little, too.

More like, _a lot._

It’s just hard to feel like you’re hot shit when your girlfriend cheats on you with a guy who looks like he’s perpetually high on molly while, simultaneously, your social crown has been snatched by a guy that looks like a goddamn Instagram model.

The thing that really makes Steve’s guts twist nervously, though, is the fact that, like. What if _SuckMeDead_ is _Billy?_

Like, _okay._ He’s probably not— But what if he _is_? Even Steve Harrington knows where to draw the line between _horniness_ and straight up _stupidity_.

Sometimes.

He huffs out a sharp exhale, and puts his phone down. He needs both of his hands to type what he wants to say without making himself look like a moron.

**_TheKing: if you’re not sharing yours, i’m not sharing mine_ **

Okay, so maybe he did not _need_ both of his hands to type that.

 _SuckMeDead_ hums, contemplative, as contemplative as a guy can be while rubbing his lube slick fingers together, “Seriously, though. Are you _really_ that shy, or— What’s your deal? Got a butterface, _King_?”

The fucking _audacity._

**_TheKing: bullying me for doing the exact same thing you’re doing?_ **

**_TheKing: that’s rich. you’re probably the one with the butterface here_ **

“Would it matter if I did?,” He grabs the toy with one slick hand, uses his free one to undo the last buttons of his shirt, all slow and easy, parting the hem of it, “I can totally compensate for it.”

Well, isn’t this guy just fucking _cocky_.

And the sight of him, all freckled skin and toned muscle, holding a goddamn rubber toy with one hand while the other is slowly creeping in between his legs has to be the most decadent, filthy thing Steve has _ever_ seen in his short small-town-rich-boy life, and it has him thoughtlessly unwrapping his lower half, tossing the damp towel to the floor.

“Do you have anything to compensate your butterface with?”

Steve doesn’t know what it is that does it for him— Maybe it’s the way _SuckMeDead_ is palming himself to complete hardness under the fabric of his shirt; maybe it’s the way he’s referring to Steve as _king,_ urging him on, like he’s challenging him, or _maybe,_

Maybe it’s the way Steve knows he _does_ have something to ‘compensate his butterface’ with, and the idea of sparking _SuckMeDead_ ’s desire, if only a little, makes his idiotic insecurities seem unimportant.

**_TheKing: take off that stupid shirt and i’ll show you_ **

Steve’s honestly bracing himself for a bitter, smartass remark, but _SuckMeDead_ just goes, “ _Now_ you’re talking.” And then he’s shamelessly shimmying out of his shirt, using his free hand to pluck it off and toss it somewhere.

And even if Steve is still hesitant, he has no choice but to snap a few pics of himself.

It takes a few tries, but he manages to get the inviting sprawl of his body captured in one picture, a picture that, in all honesty, is _not_ bad at all. Steve can objectively affirm that he looks sort of hot in it; he’s skinny and pale and his dick is _pretty_ — Yeah, maybe it’s not as thick as the other boy’s, not as _girthy,_ but definitely longer. Tapping on the little ‘ _send’_ icon, he acknowledges that he hasn’t felt this confident in _months_.

Or at least he did so until he noticed the picture had actually gone through. Then he just felt his guts flipping _all over again._

Steve’s not a stranger to nudes, okay? He's sent a few of them to girls he’s hooked up with —Okay, that’s _a lie_ , he has sent them to said girls with _the intention_ of hooking up, but he has ended up backing out, like a weirdo— and he has been cool with it, but there's something about taking them for _SuckMeDead_ that simply gets his cheeks burning hot, and a good, somehow pleasurable kind of shame tightens in his stomach.

The chat pings on the other side, and _SuckMeDead_ leans in.

He fucking _whistles,_ and squeezes the tip of his dick. Steve’s breath hicks up.

“Well, aren’t you just the sweetest slip of a thing.” He says in a tone that sounds as mocking as it sounds appreciative.

Unlike _SuckMeDead_ , Steve’s not really a _built_ guy— He has always been slim, with legs for days and a nice, round ass. He's been complimented on his body before, but up until about four seconds ago, _nobody_ had called him a _sweet slip of a thing_ , and it's a shock, just how good it feels. A little patronizing, definitely, but Steve can only imagine how it would sound murmured into his ear, accompanied by _SuckMeDead'_ s big hands framing his waist.

The rush of arousal twists sharply in his ribcage, hot and stinging. His face feels on the verge of melting off, and he has to card a shaky hand through his damp hair to gather his shit.

**_TheKing: yeah, i guess_ **

**_TheKing: you like it?_ **

“Fuck if I don’t, man.” _SuckMeDead_ finally says, after staring at what Steve assumes is his dick pic, flagging proud towards the bottom of the chat box for a little _too_ long, “I could totally lift you up, put you on my lap and hold you there until you’re begging for me to let you _grind_ against me.” He chuckles, all low and mean, “Bet you’d look really good while riding me.”

Oh my God.

 _Oh my God,_ if _SuckMeDead_ ’s words haven’t just opened a _curiosity door_ Steve didn’t even know _existed._

The inside of Steve’s mouth goes impossibly _wet_ — Letting a dick go anywhere near his butt is definitely not something he had ever considered, and although it sounds slightly intimidating, it’s not like he opposes to the idea. _SuckMeDead_ has a gorgeous dick, veiny and thick, and Steve squirms pathetically as he wonders how having it inside of him would feel.

“But what I really wanna do, though, is get my _mouth_ on you,” That’s when _SuckMeDead_ stops grinding the heel of his hand against his bulge and goes directly to curl all five fingers around his shaft, stroking calculatedly slow, “I’d deadass lick you clean, wouldn’t waste a _drop.”_

“ _Shit,_ ” Steve mutters in the privacy of his own room, feeling a hot blush prickling all over his face and down to his neck, his dick kicking against his palm, begging for attention.

Steve feels like typing _something_ — _Hell,_ he wants to say a _lot_ of goddamn _things_ ,

However, it quickly hits him that this is literally this guy’s job, and as flattering as his commentary on Steve’s genitalia is, it is _surely_ rehearsed.

But.

“Can’t stop looking at your pic,” His hand moves faster, “Why don’t you send me another one?”

But that doesn’t mean Steve can’t _pretend,_ right? Act like he’s oblivious to the fact that this whole thing is fake and just, _give in_.

Steve snaps a pic with his hand around his dick, angling the camera so that the stream is visible in the back. He can’t help but stroke a few times before sending it, wishing he had the _balls_ to just put his webcam to good use so _SuckMeDead_ could see him in all of his, wet, messy, horny glory.

Realistically though, he knows that full-on _cybersex_ isn’t something he’s ready for, not until—

Not until he’s made sure this camboy _isn’t_ Billy Hargrove. Which, honest to God, would be the worst disappointment of the fucking _decade_ , but at least he’d be able to show his face freely without that blunt feeling of panic creeping in the back of his head.

“ _Fuck_ , _dude,_ ” _SuckMeDead_ licks his lower lip and grins mischievously, like a little shit. Then his legs fall open and he lets his back sink against the chair. “You thinking about my mouth on you while you do _that_?”

Hell fucking _yes_ , he is.

To say his mind is currently drowning in intense pictures of how those pink lips would look around him, sucking just enough to make him squirm, would be an understatement.

**_TheKing: i’m thinking about my dick sliding in and out of your mouth_ **

**_TheKing: thinking about that pretty cupid’s bow of yours all shiny with my come_ **

“Jesus _,_ _yes_ , I’d make it so nice for you,” _SuckMeDead_ breathes out, knocking the breath out of his own lungs when he loses interest on his dick and goes south, one slick finger slipping slowly in between his cheeks, circling him rim. Steve’s already familiar with this scenery by now, so it doesn’t quite feel like a punch in the throat _—_ Not like it did the first time.

It still makes his dick throb, though. Steve tugs on it a few times, just enough to relieve some of the pressure, and leaves it unattended. He doesn’t really wanna _come_ — At least not _yet_. He would far rather draw out his pleasure as much as he can. It would really be a shame if he nutted when the fun is _just_ starting.

“I’d kneel in between your legs and mouth you through your underwear until you’re all nice and wet,” _SuckMeDead_ starts saying, his voice breaking a little when his finger presses in just the tiniest bit, his grip on the little toy tightening until his knuckles turn pale, “Then I’d take your junk out and,” One corner of his mouth turns up, “The rest is up to _you_ , big boy.”

His finger slides all the way in and he hisses, “Maybe letting you stuff it all into my mouth sounds good?”

Steve can’t help the full-body shudder that hits him after that.

**_TheKing: ffcuk_ **

_SuckMeDead_ laughs at that, low and raspy and his hips buck a little, lifting off the chair as he starts working a second finger in, “Did the thought of me letting you _use_ my mouth rile you up _that_ much?”

**_TheKing: you gonna kill me_ **

“ _You’re_ gonna kill _me_ ,” He corrects, grinning as he spreads his thighs even more and pushes two fingers in. He moans, gravelly and raw, and his rim is very visibly _squeezing_ around the two thick digits as he pulls them out, nice and slow, only to shove them back inside, “You’re gonna kill me with that dick, those thighs, those hands— _Fuck,_ bet those fingers would fill me up real _good_ , wouldn’t them, King?”

And, _yes_. Steve’s pretty sure he could finger _SuckMeDead_ better, so he tells him as much.

“Damn _right,_ you would.” He whispers, developing a shaky rhythm. “You’d get me all stretched and _burning—_ ”

Steve makes a downright _embarrassing_ sound as he strokes himself at a messy, uncalculated rhythm. What else can he do when _SuckMeDead’s_ voice is all wrecked like that? What else can he do when the other boy is straight up _leaking_ ; the tip of his dick leaving wet, shiny streaks of arousal on his forearm as he fingers himself? _Holy fucking shit_ ,

He wipes his right hand on his sheets and fishes for his phone, facial features all taut in concentration.

Getting the app to work at first is, no puns intended, a pain in the ass. Since Steve has never used it before —let alone any other apps of _this_ nature— it keeps requesting shit that, for the time being, is not _really_ necessary.

It asks him to provide his email and keeps insisting that he needs to subscribe to their _monthly newsletter_ , which, he _doesn’t_ , thank you very much.

Once all of that has been taken care of, though, everything else is rather simple. The screen goes blank and when Steve swipes his finger all over it, the toy buzzes inside of _SuckMeDead’s_ hand, vibrations loud and powerful.

 _SuckMeDead_ startles a little with the unexpected pulsations, and peels his back of his chair, “Shit, this is _a lot_.” He says, and then closes his hand tight around the toy, as if he’s trying to measure its full potential.

**_TheKing: can’t handle it?_ **

He snorts, “Fuck _off,_ ‘course I can.” He goes silent for a few seconds, until he finally adds, “Matter of fact, I’ll give you full control.”

Steve’s eyes widen, and his skin feels _scalding_ hot— Like he’s got third degree burns on three quarters of his body and he’s clumsily trying to soothe them with toothpaste.

“ _What?_ ”

It takes him a few seconds to register the fact that _SuckMeDead_ can’t actually _hear_ him.

**_TheKing: are you sure?_ **

_SuckMeDead_ grins, lets his fingers slide all the way out, “Yeah,” He twists over on the chair, bending over with knees wide apart, “I’m sure.”

Steve can’t see it, but he can just hear the smirk on his voice, baleful and proud— And hell, if _SuckMeDead_ isn’t hot as fuck. He has skin smooth and bronzy all over, even in places Steve’s pretty sure sunshine can’t reach. For a hot second all Steve can see is Billy lazing under the hot California sun with nothing but shades, sprawled out just a few feet away from the shore, Horus winking his right eye above him.

Steve wants to card a hand through his sandy hair; wants to taste all of that marine salt on his skin—

“Ready, big boy?”

Steve has never done this. He doesn’t know how any of it works. Up until twenty minutes ago, he had never been invested enough to actually go and buy someone’s private show, but here he is _now—_ With a boy bent over a chair on the screen of his laptop, reaching out with one hand to spread himself, the other just teasing his rim with a toy.

Holy _shit_.

Steve waits until the rubber tip is pressed softly against his tight ring of muscle _._ Waits until he hisses and his spine curves slightly, and then he lets his finger slide steadily across the screen of his phone, drawing a long, vertical line.

He can see the way the boy’s thighs pull taut at the sensation, gasping in shock, his right hand moving frantically to grip on the backrest. It’s fucking _glorious._

 _SuckMeDead_ says nothing. He simply sucks in a breath, and then his right hand goes off screen. When it re-emerges, it squeezes an excessive amount of lube out of the bottle, all over his other hand and the toy. He instantly reaches back again and continues teasing.

Soon there’s translucent liquid running down his thighs and pooling around his knees.

Steve simply licks his lips and watches, stroking himself with a steadier hand as _SuckMeDead_ starts working the toy into his now over-lubricated entrance.

It takes him a while to get the toy fully pressed in, and the watching the whole process is, honest to god, a religious experience _._ The breathless sounds _SuckMeDead’s_ making can’t be compared to anything Steve’s ever heard— He hisses as the toy slides in, slow but steady, and curses when the base of it, rounded and protuberant, stretches him out. Steve can tell his pucker is clenching down against it when it completely swallows the toy up, wet and eager.

Steve can’t help but imagine how tight _SuckMeDead_ would feel around his dick, and a warm flush spreads through his skin instantly.

On the screen, _SuckMeDead_ is panting, with the little pink rubber string hanging out of him and a pair of wobbly knees that are threatening to draw in together.

Steve leans forward and lets his fingers reach the keyboard.

**_TheKing: you good?_ **

_SuckMeDead_ turns around when he hears the little ping sound, “Yeah.”

Steve’s fingertip slides slowly across the screen again, making more vertical lines. _SuckMeDead_ quivers, sinks his knees harshly into the seat and gasps out at the same time as Steve _groans_.

“Oh, fuck,” _SuckMeDead_ moans, and then his hips are stuttering back, revealing the way his rim is clenching around the pink base of the toy, the rest pressed tightly inside of him, “Ooh, _fuck!_ ”

Steve thinks he probably deserves an award for not coming right then and there, ‘cause this is truly the hottest fucking thing he’s ever _seen_. Ever _heard_. This is peak indecency, and he can only go downhill from here.

**_TheKing: give that a little a little tug, yeah?_ **

When _SuckMeDead’_ s fingers pinch the rubber string, Steve admits to himself that letting go of his phone to type that was totally worth it. He pulls, agonizingly slow, so Steve can see the way the rounded end of it stretches him and _holy hell_ , he looks _so tight—_

Steve swipes a finger on his screen again.

“Jesus,” SuckMeDead breathes out, and manages to blurt out a weak, broken laugh when he adds, “you really are something else, teasing me— _Fuck,_ teasing me like _this.”_

**_TheKing: touch yourself_ **

“Bossy, too, huh?” _SuckMeDead_ wastes no time in letting his free hand dip in between his legs and start stroking, the other one diligently pulling and pressing at the base of the toy. His pace is slow and calculated, but Steve can totally see the way he’s gradually losing it, muscles twisting and shoulders shuddering.

Steve stops sliding his finger on his phone and keeps it pressed, instead. On the screen, _SuckMeDead’s_ entire body _squirms_ and suddenly, he stops stroking. It looks like he’s fisting the base of his dick when he weakly chants “Fuck, fuck, _fuck— Ooh, shit,_ ”

His muscles are slick with sweat, flexing under his skin. “You’re gonna make _me—_ ”

Steve groans and stops pressing his finger on his screen, although his stroking pace remains unwavering.

It takes _SuckMeDead_ a while to catch his breath again. When he does, he rasps, “Baby, you’re _mean_ ,” hot and desperate, trying his best to collect himself, “You gonna make me beg for it?

_Fuck._

Steve would _love_ to make him beg, okay? He'd love to force _SuckMeDead_ to describe just how he wants it, to have him imploring for his release.

Leaving his dick unattended, though. That seems like a monumental chore at this point— and so does typing one handed, and _so does_ alternating between his phone and his keyboard. Steve’s hesitant, and his lips turn into a thin line as he exhales sharply through his nose.

But he hits the ‘ _voice chat’_ button anyways, and clears his throat. This is stupid, and he’ll probably regret it later, but for now,

He just whispers, “Hey.”

 _SuckMeDead’s_ chin, resting on top of the backrest of his chair, jerks as he makes a shocked little noise, like he wasn't expecting it. He straightens himself and swipes a few damp strands of hair off his neck.

“…That your voice?” Is all he says, after a few seconds of piercing silence.

Steve can tell he’s surprised, if the tone of his voice and the way he perks on screen is anything to go by.

“ _Yeah_ ,” he drawls, pitch getting higher, like it’s a question. He clears his throat again, clearly mortified. “Yeah, it is.”

Now it’s time for _SuckMeDead_ to clear his throat, apparently. “You sound… _Good._ ”

Steve swallows, and his eyebrows knit together. “ _Thanks?_ ” That’s _actually_ a question, “You good?”

“Yeah,” The boy says, all coy, like he’s flustered, “I was a lot better a few seconds ago, though.”

Steve’s cheeks burn hot. “Uh, Sorry— I _, yeah_. Sorry.”

Yeah, Steve is a fucking _dork_. Fuck, _Steve_.

“You’re fucking cute,” _SuckMeDead_ laughs, then twists slightly and grabs his dick, “It’s _annoying._ ”

Steve doesn’t say a word. His big eyes just dart to the screen, to his phone, to his dick, and back to the screen. As if on cue, his finger gets the toy to start buzzing, and on the screen, _SuckMeDead_ flashes him a mean little grin.

A grin that twitches and turns into a wince as soon as the intensity of the vibrations border on _too much_.

The boy is squirming, next— _bucking_ , mindlessly running a hand down the back of his thigh.

It’s— _Fuck_ , he’s—

“ _Shit_ , you’re _so_ hot.” Steve finds himself murmuring before he can try to bite the words back, and he regrets it immediately after. Not because it’s not _true_ — holy _shit, SuckMeDead_ is easily the hottest little shit to be walking on the face of the earth right now, but, like.

It’s just awkward, okay?

 _SuckMeDead_ seems to strongly disagree, though. ‘Cause next thing Steve knows, the boy is letting out a low chuckle and breathing out a husky “ _Goddamn,_ ” twisting his fingers around both armrests. “Keep talking like _that_ , big boy,” he hisses, “Tell me all the dirty things you want me to do to you, _c’mon_ ,”

Steve gets his hand around himself again in hopes that stroking his dick will give him the courage and the rush of adrenaline he needs for this, and it turns out, it _fucking works._

“…How about I tell you all the things I want to do to _you_?”

 _SuckMeDead's_ entire body shudders with want, “Tell me, tell me.”

Steve’s breath hicks up, “I’d touch you everywhere.” His eyelashes flutter with the flick of his thumb over his slit, “I’d get my hands all over you.”

“What about your _tongue,_ King?” _SuckMeDead_ suggests sinfully, “Don’t you wanna tease me with it?”

Steve’s toes curl, hips bucking up as he chases that wicked friction, “ _Yes_. I’d make you make the prettiest noises with it.”

 _SuckMeDead_ honest to god _moans_ , drawn out and low and _filthy_ and then goes, “like _that?_ ” and that’s just, so unfair.

“Just like that, you’re so _good_.” Steve praises, and then lets out a shuddering breath.

“ _Shit,_ ” _SuckMeDead_ says instantly, voice a little wrecked, “You _touching_ _yourself?_ ”

“ _Uh huh._ ”

The boy on screen whines at that, rocking back and forth softly as the toy vibrates inside of him. It’s fucking lascivious, the way he gets visibly hot and bothered over the idea of Steve jerking off— Over the idea of Steve jerking off to _him,_

“Wanna see you,” Steve commands, “Wanna see you touching yourself. Fucking yourself with your toy, too,”

 _SuckMeDead_ gasps wet and loud, and slicks himself again with another gross squirt of lube, as if he _really_ needs to be wetter than he already _is_. He pants as he gets his dick in hand, shifts and reaches with his free hand to clutch at the base of the toy, and then he starts moving. His hands are barely doing anything; the sinful rolls his hips give are more than enough to make the buzzing toy slide in and out of himself, to make his dick glide against his palm.

His tongue touches the edge of his teeth as he eases the toy almost all the way out of his entrance, just to shove back inside. His thighs clench, and he makes one of the filthiest sounds known to mankind.

It’s— _god fucking damnit,_ Steve can’t help the wet noise that escapes his mouth, “ _Fuck_ , is that good?”

“ _Yes_ ,” He breathes, “feels fucking _good, shit_ ,”

Steve’s fucking delighted with being able to control every sensation _SuckMeDead’s_ body is experiencing, especially when the boy arches and rocks forward in response. His mouth, half in frame, falls open in a half moan, half hiss of a thing and Steve’s own slick sounds fill the emptiness of his room.

Steve wants _SuckMeDead_ to be there with him, wants to push him against his bed and slide right into his wet, tight heat. He wants, so desperately, to feel _SuckMeDead’s_ hips stutter against him, to feel all those nasty noises and broken curses ghosting wetly across his skin— He wants to witness the twitches, the arches.

He wants to be the one jerking him off as he trembles and has his legs tensing up, as he gets closer and _closer_ to the edge and his white teeth sink into his lower lip hard enough to break skin.

 _SuckMeDead_ comes, and it’s a violent thing.

A curse dies in his mouth halfway through, and then he’s spilling white stripes of arousal all over his backrest, his fingers, his stomach and his legs. His hips roll back, and instead of going lax and slack, all of his muscles go impossibly _taut_ — the knuckles of one of his hands bleaching with how hard he holds to an armrest as he makes a keening sound.

That’s because Steve’s precocious finger is _still_ pressing on the screen of his phone; too caught up in his own pleasure and his right hand, as it gets faster, to even care.

His breath grows heavy, as he watches _SuckMeDead_ riding those amplified after-shocks, dick getting softer, body quivering, _oversensitive_.

He hisses, but doesn’t ask Steve to stop. Instead, he just dips his fingers into his own come and uses it to keep jerking himself in an idle motion, slowly working himself through it. _Playing_ with himself with a feather-light hand.

It’s hot as all hell, and basically, Steve thinks, he’s never been this attracted to anyone.

Suddenly his entire body tightens up, and he pumps himself desperately until he’s spilling out, hard and fast, like a goddamn train wreck. It leaves him hot, sticky, and gasping for air and on the screen, _SuckMeDead_ smiles tiredly at the camera, “Sounds like you enjoyed it.”

Yes, Steve feels like he just spiritually transcended to an existential plane in which nutting feels like an out-of-body experience and is only a little disappointed to know that he’ll have to spend the rest of his life settling for the average kind of orgasms.

He doesn’t say that, though. Instead, he takes a second to catch his breath, replaces his phone with a box of tissues and says, “Uh, I— it was—” Yeah, Steve, you very articulate legend, “Holy _shit_ —”

“Yeah, _holy_ _shit_ ,” _SuckMeDead_ repeats with amusement, cleaning himself with a small towel before laying it over the chair and slumping in it. “Show me your mess?”

“What?”

“Your _mess_ ,” _SuckMeDead_ repeats, “I wanna see it.”

Well, _fuck_.

Steve looks down at himself, contemplative. His dick is half hard, curving against his stomach, and all the pale skin there is streaked with warm, sticky come.

He snaps a pic.

“You sure you wanna see?” Steve asks, because he’s aware of how dangerous it can be to linger around once the post-orgasm bliss wears out, and he doesn’t want to be a fucking creep, sending unwanted shit.

“Uh, yeah?” The boy deadpans, like it’s obvious he wants to know what he and his little toy did to Steve, “You saw mine, after all.”

He leans forward once Steve sends his picture, and curls a leg under himself. Then, he sucks his lower lip into his mouth, and Steve is pretty sure he sees his dick give a torturous little kick.

“Wonder if there’s a way for me to suck that dick long-distance.” He blurts out, casually as ever.

Steve’s ears go fucking pink with something that feels like both embarrassment and satisfaction, “I, uh… I’m sure someone will come up with an app for that, like, eventually.”

“I’ll be waiting,” He begins, putting a cigarette in between his lips and fiddling with a lighter, “Until then, your pictures will have to do.”

Steve finds himself perking up at the screen, naked and shocked stupid, trying not to shiver in the cold of his room when his wide-eyed gaze lands on _SuckMeDead_ grinning around his cig— Is this guy _flirting_? His job with Steve is done, which means he doesn’t have to keep supplying fake ass lines, but here he is, talking about keeping Steve’s dick pics for his personal use and oh _my god_ , this guy _is_ flirting.

“Thanks,” Steve prompts, all shy, “You don’t have to keep doing that, though.”

 _SuckMeDead_ laughs, “Doing _what_?”

“Oh, that thing—”

“Yo, I’m _not_ buttering you up,” _SuckMeDead_ interrupts, and Steve scratches his neck absently, “Just being honest.”

Steve watches the boy wiggle in his seat, getting comfortable. It’s _pleasant_ , like they’re just chilling post-orgasm, and Steve finds himself wanting to rub a hand down _SuckMeDead’s_ spine, wanting to touch his hair, wanting to pull him into bed and wrap him with a goddamn comforter—

“You should put something on.” Is what he says, because deep inside he’s painfully aware that all of the above will never happen, not in a million years. This is _not_ how these things work.

 _SuckMeDead_ ’s chest floods with color and the corners of his mouth curl up as he plucks his unlit cigarette away, “You’re asking me to get _dressed_?” He asks incredulously, like Steve has magically started speaking out of his ass, but he ambles out of his chair and off-frame anyways.

“You should drink some water, too, while you’re at it.” Steve adds, ‘cause, like. _Yeah_.

Steve laughs when _SuckMeDead_ chuckles and hollers a very cute and kind of confused, ‘ _Okay, mom_ ’ over the sound of hinges screeching, drawers sliding open, and a door creaking shut. When he comes back, he’s wearing a Black Sabbath tee that has seen one too many washes and red boxer briefs, water bottle in hand.

“Better?” He wiggles the bottle in front of the camera as he plops back into his chair. “Maybe you should do the same.”

It’s a nice suggestion, and Steve totally wants to smooch _SuckMeDead’s_ forehead even though he has never seen it, but he’s already sliding under his covers, butt naked.

“I’m already in bed,” He yawns, “Gotta work in the morning— ‘Cause I do _actually_ have a job, you know? No _daddy,_ or whatever, to pay for my stuff.”

“Where do you work?” The boy questions, sounding truly interested. When did this whole thing go from a jerk off fest to the most mundane exchange ever?

“There’s this really cool café where I live— Used to be an arcade back in the 80’s, I think.”

“So you’re like, a barista?” _SuckMeDead_ hums, “You just get cuter and cuter, don’t you?”

Steve finds himself grinning at his screen, like a goddamn idiot.

They go back and forth like this, joking and talking and _flirting_ , for a while. Like it’s a genuine conversation— _SuckMeDead_ drinks all of his water and forgets about his cigarette completely, while Steve’s responses come easier, and the nerves building up in his shoulders vanish.

Steve learns that _SuckMeDead_ attends the UCSB and studies physics there— A stupid joke about ‘ _busting a nut in space and being pushed backwards_ ’ being his only reasoning as to why he chose said major when Steve asks about it. He discovers that the boy has a weird thing for spicy food and gets his weed from a petite redhead named _Lucy_.

Steve learns a lot about the guy, and the guy learns a lot about Steve —just enough to give him a general idea of who Steve is without saying _too much,_ Steve knows better than to be _stupid_ — yet by the time the alarm goes off, Steve still has no face to associate all of those recentl discoveries with.

It’s a goddamn shame, Steve decides, and leaves no room for arguments.

His shoulders slump in bitter disappointment, “I, uh—” Steve blinks, “Thanks for talking to me, I guess.”

He doesn’t say _‘thanks for the good time’_ , or _‘thanks for showing me your new toy’_ or whatever the hell it is that people who buy private sessions from camboys on the internet say in these situations.

 _SuckMeDead_ doesn’t seem to mind, though. He finally grabs his cigarette again, and gestures idly at the camera with it, “It’s cool, man. I had fun.” He clears his throat, “And thanks for staying. Not many people stick around after, you know—”

“No problem,” Steve’s stomach drops, thinking about this boy having to deal with the sweat and the mess and the physical turmoil all by himself on a daily basis, “I’ll catch you some other time.”

On camera, _SuckMeDead’s_ grin is wide and _genuine_ , right before the timer runs out.

Steve is fucking _screwed_ , and he only has himself to blame.

\---

Steve beats his alarm clock the next morning. The sun has only begun rising and it takes all the will power in the world for him to pry his eyes open and bring his phone closer to his face.

On his notification tab, however, _SuckMeDead_ is _obnoxiously_ awake— Talking about how he’s just woken up after sleeping through his alarm and cursing about being late for an elective.

‘ _It was totally worth it tho_ ’ He says, followed by a _‘#choicesweremade’_ and then goes on to elaborate on how his new toy works wonders, how he came so hard and so intensely that the ‘ _The Royalty’_ decided to stay and provide after care.

It’s sweet; or so Steve thinks until he reaches the end of the post— Where _SuckMeDead_ mentions that he’ll be following the same dynamic tonight.

Steve isn’t surprised by the statement. Still, his face screws up a little under the glare of the sunlight framing his face through his curtains.

Like, don’t get the boy wrong, alright? He knows that _SuckMeDead_ is a sex worker; one that excels at what he does, that is. He’s supposed to be attractive and charming and _flirty_ ; he's supposed to get people to love him and to want him, to get people to think there's a deep connection. That’s what he does this for a living — He gets money in exchange for giving random horny dudes a good time, stupid ass guys who are lonely as fuck and don’t know any better.

Steve just so _happens_ to fall under the random-horny-dude umbrella, _hell_ , he’s the ultimate poster boy for stupid and lonely.

He _does_ know better, though. He just _thought_ that— _Well_ , given some of the things _SuckMeDead_ had said last night, maybe— _Okay_ —

Fine, whatever.

When he finally drags himself out of bed, the first thing he sees is his laptop on the corner of the bed, left there after last night. His towel, all dull looking and probably still damp, is crumpled on the floor right next to it. He stands at the doorway for a few minutes, staring.

Steve’s gut _flips_.

Maybe he doesn't know better. And even if he does, that doesn't seem to make _any_ difference, now. He fell for _SuckMeDead_ and what Steve has projected on him; he fell for his magnetism and his appeal just like all of his other followers.

Because he’s not different from all of them, _apparently_ — Just another _creep_ in a sea of _creeps_.

He turns and goes downstairs. It’s been a while since Steve’s had to go to work feeling like absolute miserable trash, so it’s better to get started early.

Robin calls him shortly after, startling him out of the moping session he’s having in his couch with old The Great British Bake Off re-runs on his TV and a tub of plain yoghurt.

“ _Come over for breakfast? I made pancakes._ ” She asks when Steve picks up, “ _I’ll be waiting for you in my sexy Totoro onesie._ ”

Steve wants to inform Robin that just because it has a frayed hole around the butt area doesn’t make it sexy, but, like. He doesn’t have the energy to do that, so instead he just settles for a very heart-felt, very expressive, “What.”

“ _Alright,_ ” Robin drawls suspiciously, “ _What has your panties in such a twist this morning?_ ”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve mumbles around the spoon.

“ _You’ve never reacted to my pancakes with such indifference_.” She puffs out a breath, “ _What happened, dingus?_ ”

“Nothing.” Steve eats another spoonful. “Bought a private session with a camboy last night; we jerked off and talked about school and work and food and today I woke up to a notification from him saying he’s doing it again with whoever ‘ _buys him’_ tonight.” He sniffs, blinks down at his yoghurt, “It's fine. He doesn’t owe me _anything_ just because I sent him one— _three_ dick pics.”

“ _Lord_.” Robin exhales loudly through her nose. “ _Are we talking about the same guy from yesterday?_ ”

“Yup,” Steve says mulishly, “That’s him.”

“ _You know you can’t get jealous over that, right?_ ” Robin says. “ _That’s his job, dingus.”_

Steve’s not _jealous_ — He’s just heartbroken. A little fed up, maybe. Queasy over the fact that Billy— No, _SuckMeDead_ , treats others the same way he treats Steve, gives them the same privileges.

Okay, maybe he’s a _little_ jealous.

 _“Please come over, we’ll talk about it while we eat. Love you._ ”

“Love you, too.” Steve sighs heavily, “ _Wait_ —”

“ _Dingus?_ ”

“I, uh… I was wondering if—” He bites the inside of his cheek, “Am I still bisexual if I think that having a dick up my ass doesn’t sound bad, like, _at all?_ ”

Robin spits out a sound that’s equal parts terrified and enraged, “ _We’re not discussing that while we eat, you hear me? Don’t you dare ruin maple syrup for me_!”

After she hangs up, Steve looks down at the yoghurt, thinks about his life choices for a few seconds, and decides to go to Robin’s.

**_Give me twenty x_ **

\---

Steve’s proud to say he goes three full weeks without resorting to _SuckMeDead’s_ vids or his dick— Not because he’s over the guy, but because it stings. Instead, He uses his new chunk of free time to unfollow all of the random camgirls on his social media platforms, and Robin is exceptionally proud of how _PG_ his Instagram feed has been looking lately.

He totally loses all self-control at a red light on his way home one afternoon, though.

Steve is not a pervert, okay?

He just knows he has been missing a ton of notifications, and his palms itch against his steering wheel as he drives through the dusty streets of Hawkins. His back collapses on the backrest of the driver seat, and he finds himself thumbing through the website before he can think better of it.

 _SuckMeDead’s_ last livestream happened two days ago, and the whole thing was uploaded to his profile shortly after. Steve licks his lips, silly and slightly judgmental of his own actions, and then presses down to view it.

On Screen, _SuckMeDead_ is wearing a pair of black shorts, low enough to show the V of his hips. He’s sitting on a countertop in the middle of a kitchen that looks like the 70’s vomited all over it, all floral motifs and macramé curtains, pale orange walls and rounded edges.

He yawns, right after reading what someone in the chat had to say about the decidedly _kitschy_ décor, “Had to come to my old place to run some errands. I’ll be staying here for a few days, so you’ll just have to deal with the shitty backgrounds and the equally shitty lighting for a while.” He grins mischievously, “I know you guys are not here for the curtains, anyways.”

Steve tries not to think too much about the bitter taste that seeing _SuckMeDead_ treat all of his other followers with such familiarity leaves in his tongue— Tries not to think too much about the fact that _SuckMeDead_ exists out of his dorm. He swallows once, twice, thrice,

Until the lump in his throat goes down.

 _SuckMeDead_ shoves a hand inside of his shorts and reaches for his dick, “Mother, my _ass_. She’s _not_ my mother,” He supplies with some disdain when someone asks him if he’s really about to bust a nut on his mom’s kitchen island, “And I kinda hate her, so it’s fair.”

So Steve had been wrong about the daddy issues; _mommy issues_ sounds more like it.

He curls a thumb around his waistband, and Steve slams his phone face down on his passenger seat— Nope. _No_. Steve’s got more self-control than this, and he can totally resist looking at a camboy tugging on his meat while he’s in the middle of the road.

Later that day, when Steve decides he’ll make an early dinner, he goes onto _SuckMeDead’s_ profile, only to find out that his location is _still_ California.

The blood flows from his dick all the way back to his brain.

\---

Robin is gorgeous and has a slender, stylized frame, but she’s far from being a graceful dancer. Steve learns that the hard way, when they’re swaying in the middle of the café to a playlist they found on Spotify named ‘ _Tunes for talentless art-hoes’,_ squeezed in between rows of round yellow tables, and he loses count of how many times she’s stepped on his toes with her heavy ass-docs.

“The key is to stop thinking, dingus,” She supplies, lifting an arm up in a way she probably thinks is smooth, fingers spread, “Just _feel_.”

“Hm.” Steve’s eyebrows furrow.

“Why are we doing all the cleaning while you two are just _dancing_?” Lucas asks, damp handkerchief in hand.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Mike supplies, making a stink face, hip cocked while he rests both hands on the end of his broomstick, “We _don’t_ work here, you guys do.”

“That’s how capitalism works, bitch.” Robin quirks her eyebrows, allowing Steve to spin her around one time as Lana Del Rey’s _Summer Bummer_ starts playing.

“ _C’mon_ , you guys,” Steve begins, curling his lips down as his eyes train on Robin, “I carpool your asses around all the time, cleaning a few tables is the least you can do.”

“I think it’s fair.” Will nods from where he’s sitting on top of a table, bouncing thin legs and big white Skechers in the air, doing absolutely _nothing_.

Dustin glares at him, “ _I think_ it’s child exploitation—” he corrects, scowling from under a tuft of curly brown hair, “Which is _illegal_ , by the way. 8 to 17 years’ imprisonment for using a person under 16 to do forced labor.”

Lucas crosses his arms over his chest, rolling his eyes, “Now you’re just deadass pulling shit out of your ass.”

“I’m _not_ —”

“Dude, my dad is _literally_ a lawyer—”

“Shut your pie-holes!” Robin shouts, pushing Steve away and putting her hands up in the air, eyes comically wide, “The best part is about to start.”

When ASAP Rocky starts rapping, Robin inhales sharply, then starts _flossing_. Steve presses the heels of his palms against his eyes in exasperation, and both Lucas and Dustin _cackle_ loudly, clapping like goddamn seals before tossing their handkerchiefs away so they can join her.

“Jesus fucking _Christ_ ,” Steve steps back to where Mike is begrudgingly standing next to the register, making a disgusted face that looks a little too much like Nancy’s.

“And what are _you doing?_ ” Mike whines, lips scrunched up, when he sees Will wiping his phone out straight towards Robin, Lucas and Dustin.

Will’s grin is bright and toothy, and there are wrinkles forming around his hazel eyes, “I’m streaming this live for the girls to see.”

Mike rolls his eyes _so_ hard, Steve is a little afraid they’ll get stuck to the back of his head— He _strongly_ agrees with the sentiment, nonetheless. The kid balls his handkerchief and throws it at Will, but fails miserably, hitting a trash can instead.

Will can’t be bothered to look at Mike; he just laughs and mouths ‘ _same’_.

As soon as ASAP Rocky’s verse is done and Lana resumes her soft crooning, the three of them stop flossing and continue swaying softly, spinning around each other in a fluent motion.

Thank God it’s another slow Tuesday.

“You’re _all_ embarrassing,” Mike huffs out, “What if a customer comes? What do you guys think they’ll say?”

“I’d definitely say that I’d rather be caught _dead_ than hanging out with you, _faggots_. But that’s nothing new.”

Oh.

Steve _knows_ that goddamn voice. He knows it a little too well.

He pries his eyes away from Mike’s indignant face and turns to look at whoever just entered the café.

It’s Billy Hargrove.

It’s _Billy fucking Hargrove_ standing in the doorway, hand still on the handle, staring at Robin and the kids with an irritated expression.

He’s also wearing a stupid Hawaiian shirt, the same one Steve asked _SuckMeDead_ to take off.

Steve’s guts drop right into his ass.

He feels small, fucking _tiny_ , yet somehow bigger than his own body, lungs and heart way too goddamn large to fit inside of his ribcage.

Everything about Billy is _golden_ — His skin, his hair, his pendant, his rings; The halo of sunlight framing his blond hair like he’s some goddamn angel that just crawled straight out of a whiskey bottle. _Golden_ , like he has spent the last few months strictly under the sun and nowhere else. Steve stares at him, heart rabbiting in his chest, and he doesn’t know what to make of it, doesn’t know what he’s _seeing_ ,

He just knows that Billy’s standing _there_ , looking as gorgeous as usual.

_Fucking hell._

Will drops his phone, and as effective as that is to break Steve’s bubble of thought, it doesn’t do too much to ease the tension in the room. When Steve risks it, he catches sight of a bunch of cocked heads and wide eyes cautiously staring at Billy.

Billy, on the other hand, is looking over, meeting Steve’s eyes from across the room. There’s something unfamiliar on his face, something that looks an awful lot like _realization_ , but then he’s baring his teeth, grinning sharply at Steve, before stuffing his keys into his pocket and padding towards Will.

“Mini Byers,” He greets softly, bending to grab his phone. Will goes still, goes quiet and swallows audibly. “You’re not so little anymore, are ya.”

“I— I’m—” Will stutters, dumb, like he’s been slapped in the face. “I’m not, I guess.”

Billy smiles easy at him, handing him his phone, “Be careful. Next time you could fucking crack the screen.”

Will nods, and Steve can see the blush spreading through his round features and down the collar of his shirt. It’s like watching a tiny version of himself in the mirror and holy _shit_ — Does this kid have a _crush_ on Billy, too?

“What do you _want_?” Steve asks when he finally finds his voice, and it comes out a little harsher than he had initially intended— He can’t help it, all of the feelings bubbling in his gut taste acrid on their way up, and he’s only human. He eyes pointedly at the exposed skin on Billy’s chest and realizes that opening his goddamn mouth was a major fuck up.

'Cause Billy's ruffling Will’s hair gently and turning to face Steve, something decidedly wild visibly hiding under his skin, like Billy’s this close to stalking towards Steve and doing something, _anything_ , to him. What exactly, Steve doesn’t know, but it has Dustin and Lucas padding towards Steve reflexively, like a couple of pubescent bodyguards.

“Easy, pretty boy.” Billy says, lifting his hands defensively, shit-eating grin still on his face. He takes a few steps closer. “Not here to kill your vibe.”

Having Billy this close and making eye contact with him for the first time in _months_ is giving Steve severe whiplash— He’s not a bunch of pixels, anymore. He’s not five inches small on the screen of his phone.

He’s right _here_ , and his eyes are the color of the fucking _ocean_ , because of _course_ he just has to have beautiful eyes, right under those dark, thick eyelashes.

He tries looking anywhere else, like down at Billy’s mouth, but that doesn’t help Steve’s case either, because his eyes land on Billy’s full lower lip just as he’s running his tongue over it, and Steve just _has_ to follow the motion.

Steve then tries looking behind Billy, but Robin’s there, eyes half-amused, half-asking ‘ _do you want me to call the police?’_

 _Shit_.

“I’m here because these two shitheads keep pissing Maxine and Janie off,” Billy says, gesturing vaguely at Mike and Lucas, not bothering to meet their eyes, “And since they knew they’d be here, they refused to come.”

Behind Billy, Robin’s eyebrows shoot up until they’re practically meeting her hairline, then she mutters a soft, ‘ _oh’_.

“So you’re here for the cake.” Robin says drily.

The hungry little glint in Billy’s eye has Steve _burning_ under his shirt and his stupid apron. “Yes,” he mutters, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, “For sure.”

Steve’s entire face _prickles_ under his skin, and if he had to guess, he’d say that he’s beet red all the way down to his navel. Mike scanning all over Steve’s face with wide, brown eyes does nothing but confirm that he probably looks like he’s about to _combust_.

Steve wants to scream, but he’d rather be buried alive than to give Billy the satisfaction.

Robin brings her hands together with a soft clap, approaching Billy from behind with a tight smile. “I’ll help you with that,” she says, coming to stand next to him, eyes never leaving Steve, “Can you go to the back and get some more filters, dingus? Some new cups?”

Robin is a fucking angel, Steve decides, and she hasn’t even finished her sentence when Steve is already out the back door, barging in and letting himself slide down against the wall until he’s sitting on the kitchen floor, hugging his knees.

He can totally hear Billy poking fun at Robin’s moniker of choice for Steve _._

\---

Steve’s tossing uncontrollably on Robin’s bed, like a drunk, deranged kitten; facing the wall for about four seconds before deciding that the noise coming from Robin’s laptop is just _too_ _much_ for his intoxicated ass to handle— too many voices, too many weird ass _screeches_ of alien creatures killing people, too many dialogs in a foreign language he can’t even comprehend.

When he shifts to lie on the opposite side of his body, he squints and sees Robin sitting cross-legged right next to him, nibbling on a plastic fork as she contemplates the screen of her laptop, munching from a half-eaten plate of pasta.

There’s too much _light_ , now, too much _movement_. He kinda wishes he had stayed facing the goddamn wall, ‘cause even when he closes his eyes, there are flashes of red and blue bleeding through his eyelids, and the sensory overload makes him feel close to shitting himself.

“Robs, turn that off—”

Robin bites down a little harder on the end of her fork, eyebrows knitting together to make a point. “No, I happen to like this show.”

Steve sits up too quickly, and the world feels like it’s tilting to one side, brown strands of hair flopping in every direction. Robin makes a sound halfway between a grunt and a squawk, twisting her upper body so she can look at Steve, bright red fork hanging from her lips.

“ _What_?” She mumbles around it.

“That show is absolute garbage,” Steve winces, “The writers are awful, and the plot for the third season has too many holes. Oh _,_ and that one douchebag idiot you like? He gets _impaled._ He totally had it coming.”

“Wow,” Robin’s horrified eyes flicker down to Steve’s lap as he hiccups, then back up at his pouting lips, “You’re being mad lesbophobic right now.”

Steve purses his lips. His gaze remains steady, even as his body starts wobbling to one side on its own accord. “You think I fucked up?” He clears his throat, “Earlier today?”

Robin stares at him, annoyed.

Steve had been whining about Billy ever since he left the café with two slices of carrot cake inside of a little plastic container earlier that day, leaving three terrified teenagers and a flustered one behind. Steve spilled his guts to Robin in the kitchen right after that— providing her with every bit of information he had been keeping to himself.

Much to Steve’s annoyance, Robin had already figured out half of it before he even opened his mouth to her about it.

She had thought that prompting him to drink a few beers with her after work would help him loosen up; she had thought that rolling a blunt for him would make him forget momentarily about this whole thing; but Steve is an anxious little shit, always overthinking everything— How is he supposed to just _forget_? Now he’s drunk as fuck,

He’s drunk and high _and_ he’s _still_ whining over Billy.

It’s just _too_ _much_ , okay?

Going from thinking you have a monotone, boring life to discovering you have tendencies that are not from the straight variety— Realizing you had an impending crush on the guy you thought you hated, only to realize he’s the camboy you’ve been jerking off nonstop for weeks—

And don’t get the boy wrong; Steve feels slightly pleased with himself that he had been right all along, that his suspicions about _SuckMeDead_ and Billy Hargrove being the same person were right,

It’s just that— Part of him wishes he could go back to utter unawareness. It was easier.

“I think you handled it very poorly, dingus, if that’s what you’re asking.” Her face softens when she sees his features falling, and she sucks the fork a little further into her mouth. “It’s not his fault you’re having a bisexual meltdown.”

“Oh, it _totally_ is,” He corrects, even though that’s a lie and he knows it. It’s honestly Steve’s own fault, for thinking he was bigger than this whole thing— For thinking he could _beat_ it.

“ _No_ ,” She drawls, “Nobody’s at fault, here. These things just kind of happen, sometimes.”

“ _Yeah_ , sometimes you just beat your meat mindlessly to the guy who used to make your life miserable back in high school, only to develop a crush before realizing that you don’t mean more to him than the next guy.” Steve puffs out, bitterly, picking at his fingernails, “That’s, like, _totally_ a thing that happens.”

Steve just wants to get up and leave— He wants to run until he’s in the middle of the woods, sweaty and drunk and crying and wearing mismatched socks.

“Talk to him.” Robin suggests, gently jostling Steve against the wall with her knees.

“ _Robin_ ,” Steve groans, giving her what’s supposed to be a glare but totally looks like a pout, “Why the fuck would I do that?”

“Because he’s here, now.” Robin begins, setting her plate to the side, “And if you miss this chance, you’ll never stop fretting about the might-have-beens.”

He presses his palms briefly against his eyes. “There are no might-have-beens, Robin. He doesn’t like me—” Is what comes out of his mouth, but that’s just putting it mildly— Billy hates Steve’s guts with a burning passion, and even if he didn’t, that doesn’t mean that Billy would reciprocate Steve’s very intense feelings, anyways.

Steve would be _pathetic_ to be hoping that.

Robin pulls her knees to her chest and sidles closer, propping her chin on Steve’s shoulder. “ _Sure_.” She grins. “Talk to him, anyways. Get your closure, then you’ll be able to move on.”

Steve hums, slouching a little further in between the wall and the bed. He looks at Robin with glassy, red-rimmed eyes, “You’re fucking wise.”

“I know.” She says, wrapping her arms around Steve’s waist and hugging him hard.

They sit there, half-cuddling as they lean against the wall for a few seconds. Steve cards a hand through Robin’s hair and wonders if he’s actually worthy of such a good friend. It’s a pleasant quiet, for a little while.

Of course, that doesn’t last, and Steve speaks before long.

“I’ll do it now.” Steve states sternly, nearly knocking Robin off the bed as he stands up clumsily. “You’re a good friend, Robs.” He hiccups, “10/10 would befriend you again.”

\---

When Steve finally pulls up at the Mayfield’s, he’s about 25% exhaustion, 25% jitters and 50% booze. The latter is the one keeping him from running back into his car and driving until he’s in another state; instead, it makes his face feel numb as he rings the doorbell and shifts on his feet.

Robin had chased Steve out of her house, tugged on his sleeves and stretched the collar of his baby blue sweater to keep him from getting into his car.

“I _did_ say that you should go talk to him, just _not now,_ ” She had squealed, standing in front of the BWM with extended arms to keep Steve from peeling away, “It’s freaking late, and you’re freaking drunk _,_ and you're high— You _can’t_ drive—”

Steve just couldn’t take her seriously when she was wearing that ridiculous Totoro onesie.

Now, though, as Billy opens the door slowly, wearing pale gray joggers low on his hips and white socks, Steve really wishes he had listened to her. It’s kind of amazing; the false sense of security a fat nugget of weed can give someone.

Billy’s expression goes from confusion to surprise, and maybe there’s some annoyance underlying there, too. Wincing like he’s uncomfortable, he rests his bare torso against the doorframe, hand still in handle, and arches his eyebrows expectantly at Steve.

This was _such_ a terrible idea.

Steve swallows, “Uh, hey.” He’s _not_ looking at Billy’s nipple piercings.

Billy says nothing; cracking the tiniest of smiles, he studies Steve curiously, like he’s encouraging him to go on.

Steve feels his body doing that _thing_ —that annoying fucking thing he just wishes it wouldn't _do_ — except this time he's not feeling it in his crotch, but on his chest and _god fucking damnit_ , he's so fucked up right now.

“I just— I wanted to apologize. For being all… Weird, and shit, this morning.” He hates the heat that bites at his cheeks.

Billy’s tentative little small turns into a full blown grin at that, and Steve’s pretty sure he’s seeing him shift a little on his spot, too.

“Yeah, man. Customer service is for sure not your thing,” He says, easy, “But I accept your apology.”

Steve thinks that, maybe, if he were somebody else, he might laugh this all off and make a casual joke about it. He's Steve Harrington, though, so he just goes impossibly red and scratches at his neck. Like a moron.

He sucks in a breath, “I just— It’s been a rough week.”

More like a rough month, but go off, Steve.

“It’s alright.” Billy says, dark eyelashes fluttering.

“Right.” Steve nods, sharp and jerky as he wraps his arms around himself in some sort of pathetic self-hug, “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”

A few seconds of long-suffering silence go by before Billy decides to open his mouth again, “You’re mad shitfaced, Steve.”

It’s not a question, it’s an affirmation— a _very_ accurate one. Yeah, Steve is pretty fucked up, right now, and Billy— Billy’s is very observant.

Steve feels warm and dopey inside, though, like there are sparks shooting from his neck down, spreading evenly through his ribcage.

Billy called him _Steve_.

Even in his pitiful state, Steve would _never_ miss that. It a small thing, and it sure as hell means _nothing_ , but it still makes Steve feel happy.

“I’m fine,” Steve mumbles, stuffing his hands into his pockets and looking down at his Nikes, “I, uh— I’ll probably regret it tomorrow, coming here unannounced, but—”

 _‘But at least I got to see your face before you leave again’_ Steve thinks of saying, although he lacks the balls to do so, “But for now I’m fine. And I, uh—” Steve’s stomach churns as he takes a step back, “I should probably get going.”

“ _Right_ ,” Billy snorts, a low chuckle building at the base of his throat as he glances amusedly between Steve and his car, “Like I’m letting you go just like that.”

Steve squints at Billy. Maybe the weed is just hitting extra hard tonight, but he feels like he’s short-circuiting, warmth spreading through his skin.

_What?_

“You’re too fucked up to drive.” Billy says gruffly, and _oh_ , Steve must have said that out loud.

With his heart trying to pound straight out of his body, Steve shakes his head awkwardly, takes another step back, “I can drive just _fine_.”

And just like that, Billy enters fight mode. He raises his chin up, meeting Steve’s eyes boldly like he’s silently daring him to take another step.

Arching a slitted eyebrow, he lets his hand fly off the door handle and close to Steve, lets two of his fingers curl tight around one of Steve’s belt loops. Steve’s eyes go comically wide as he tries to flinch away, another false ‘ _I’m fine’_ scalding in his mouth.

Another _‘I’m fine’_ he doesn’t get to say, because Billy is yanking him closer, still looking at him with defiant blue eyes. Steve’s tongue is glued to the roof of his mouth so hard it _hurts_ as he looks down and sees Billy’s big, warm hand slipping into the front pocket of his chinos, knuckles pressing against the fabric and the prickling skin underneath as his hand moves further down.

Steve’s chest feels heavy as he tries to ignore the roller coaster of amplified sensations rolling through his body, the way his ears ring, the way his breath catches on its way out. He feels on the verge of exploding.

“I might be a piece of trash, pretty boy,” He says, letting his voice drop a little, pulling Steve’s keys out of his pocket and dangling them in front of him, “But I’m sure as hell not letting your sorry ass get hurt out there.”

With that, Billy steps to the side, giving Steve room to enter the house with a gaze that broads no arguments.

Steve thinks that this is probably how he dies.

\---

“Susan and Maxine have been taking a bunch of creative liberties with this shithole, you know, after Neil left, and shit. At least they didn’t touch my goddamn room.”

Steve is plucking at a soft yellow macramé table runner with two fingers when a loud clank makes him flinch in his wooden chair. He turns around to see a very real, shirtless, not-pixelated-at-all Billy Hargrove handling a metallic pot filled with coffee with a pastel colored, floral handkerchief.

Life is crazy sometimes.

Steve flinches again when Billy’s hand, and holy fucking shit his _fingers_ , come into his line of vision. He puts a cup of steamy hot coffee in front of Steve, and his big honey-colored eyes all but snap back to the face of the guy whose dick he’s been lusting after for the past few weeks and, _damn_ — Life _is_ fucking crazy sometimes.

“I didn’t remember you being this jumpy, Harrington.”

Billy’s taunting him, Steve knows. There’s something _fond_ in the way Billy is looking at him, though, and as he leans against the kitchen island and brings his own mug close to his face, Steve’s cheeks flush and he looks down, dark strands of hair falling into his eyes.

“Usually I’m not,” Steve clears his throat, taking a sip of his own coffee, “It’s just that, I, uh—”

 _‘It’s just that I’m crossfaded out of my fucking mind’_ Steve thinks, _‘It’s just that I saw you jerking off on top of that kitchen island just a few days ago’, ‘It’s just that I still can’t fucking believe that you make porn for a living’_

“It’s just that _it’s been a rough week_ , yeah, yeah. Being in the same room with those nerds on a daily basis has to be draining as fuck.” Billy sneers, cradling his cup in between his hands, “Is that what you’ve been up to this whole time?”

“You mean working at _The Palace_? Yeah, that’s what I’ve been doing,” Steve sighs, doesn’t mention the crippling loneliness that led him to partake in unhealthily long sessions of porn surfing that ended up with Steve finding Billy’s own inventory of sexy content, “That’s what I’ll be doing until I figure my shit out.”

Steve _almost_ brings up the whole _‘is daddy paying for your camboys’_ incident, but bites his tongue before he can go and fuck it up. He might be drunk, but he’s acutely aware of all the shit he told _SuckM_ — _Billy_ back when he bought that private session. Billy doesn’t need to know that Steve is that one guy who buzzed his butthole to numbness and then told him to hydrate.

Billy hums, “That’s honestly not a bad idea. It’s a lot better than rushing to do shit you’re not ready for and ending up falling flat on your ass.”

“…Did that happen to you?” Steve blinks slowly at Billy. “I mean, Max told me some stuff. She said that you were working instead of— instead of studying.”

“There are no scholarships for troubled kids with juvenile records who also happen to smell like a walking ashtray,” Billy blurts out, leaving his empty mug behind as he goes to refill Steve’s cup with more black coffee. “That’s what happened to me.”

Steve tastes something sour in his mouth as a little ‘ _oh’_ makes its way out. When he tilts his head up to see Billy, he looks serene and unbothered, like whatever he had to struggle with to get into university while Steve’s rich ass was here wasting time is no longer relevant.

It’s a good look on Billy, and Steve kinda wants to kiss him.

“I’ve got it figured it out now, though.” He shrugs, wincing a little, stepping back to lean against the kitchen island again. Steve wonders why he won’t sit at the table with him. “Most of it, anyways. I still have some shit to solve.”

Right.

Steve remembers him saying that he came back to Hawkins to ‘ _run some errands’_ , but there’s no way in _hell_ Steve will be able to bring that up without exposing his ass and letting Billy know that he was watching his stream—

_Unless,_

“So… This morning. When I asked you what you wanted.” Steve begins, clearing his throat. “It was rude, and I— I’m sorry.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Billy laughs, clearly amused by Steve’s fumbling. “ _Jesus_ , it’s alright.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t mean it like that.” God, why is he still talking? “I just, I wondered if— Just wondering—”

“You’re wondering why I’m here.” Billy supplies. Steve is going to pass out.

Steve doesn’t say anything; he just takes a big gulp of his coffee so he can have a good enough reason as to why he’s not talking and it burns everything on its way down.

Billy’s jaw works. He fidgets a little, and if Steve didn’t know better, he’d think he’s nervous. He rolls his eyes, sighing, and pulls his phone out.

Steve’s own phone goes _batshit_ not long after. It doesn’t just _buzz_ inside of Steve’s pocket, but the notification alert pings painfully _loud_ , and there’s nothing Steve wishes more right now, than for the earth to split open and swallow him whole.

He remains frozen in place, cradling his cup in between shaky fingers, looking up at Billy with laughably wide eyes. Billy just _stares_ back at him, and his face showcases a wide variety of emotions. All of them seem to be positive, though, and a playful grin never leaves his face.

He brings a hand up and motions lazily at Steve. “I think you just got something, there. Could be important.”

Hell, _no_.

Steve flinches. “It’s— it’s _Robin_. I’m pretty sure.”

Billy fucking _snorts_ at that. “Ah, c’mon, pretty boy. Don’t give me that bullshit.”

Steve knows there’s no way he’s leaving this place alive, knows there’s no way this will end up well,

So.

So he just pulls his phone out of his pocket and unlocks his screen.

 ** _High and flustered looks good on you pretty boy_** , _SuckMeDead’s_ post reads, **_You should wear it more often_**

Steve sucks in a sharp breath and nearly chokes on it. His phone slips out of his hand clatters against the table. Now he totally understands how poor Will must have felt earlier, and curses Billy for being such a hazard to people and their phones.

“ _You_ —”

“Yeah.”

They go quiet, after that.

So Billy _knows_. Billy Hargrove, the insufferable scum who took it personally to turn Steve’s senior year into a living hell. Billy Hargrove, who also happens to be _SuckMeDead_. He fucking _knows_ that Steve has watched his livestreams multiple times and has liked them enough to go and buy a private session for himself. He knows that Steve has not only seen his dick while it’s hard, but he has _also_ jerked off to it— Billy _knows_ that Steve dropped three hundred bucks to get close and personal with him and his little toy.

Steve’s stomach _jolts_.

“You—” Steve tries again, feeling his ears go red as he sees Billy worrying the inside of his cheek, “You’re a _camboy_ ,”

Billy exhales sharply through his nose, smiling and looking away, “Yeah, and _you’re_ gay.”

Fuck black coffee, Steve sure as hell is sober now.

“I’m _not_ —” _Okay_ , this is definitely not the best moment to discuss the specifics, “How did you know it was _me_?”

When he tilts his head up to see Billy’s face and finds that his blue eyes have dropped to Steve's mouth, he shudders under Billy's hot gaze and does _nothing_ to conceal it. He can always blame it on the weed. Or the alcohol. Or _both_.

“I’m disappointed to say that I didn’t recognize your dick, even though I spent a good chunk of my year in this shithole of a town staring at it,” Maybe it's that Steve wasn't really expecting Billy to say that out loud, but he feels like his face is about to melt off, “But I _did_ recognize your voice.”

_Of fucking course._

“You also went full _mother hen_ on me. Going on about _drinking water_ , and shit.” Billy shrugs, “It _had_ to be you, no one does that.”

Steve feels heat rising all over his chest. Billy has just openly admitted to staring at Steve’s junk during their time in high school, and although that’s undeniably gratifying, he still feels ashamed. He’s still fucking _embarrassed_.

And this whole thing is just bordering on _too much._

He shakes his head, dazed, and stands up. “But you— So, you just, I mean—” Steve takes a long, shaky breath, eyes _not_ looking at Billy, “ _Fuck_ , I _can’t_. I can’t do this.”

This time, when he steps back on wobbly legs, Billy doesn’t stop him; he just rolls his eyes in annoyance and grunts a low ‘ _whatever’_.

\---

It’s while walking the short distance between Billy’s front porch and his car, that Steve remembers that Billy _still_ has his keys.

He’s an idiot; mostly for forgetting such an important thing, but also for pretty much everything else.

There’s no way in hell Billy will give them back without being stupid about what just happened; chances are he’ll want to force Steve into admitting something he’s most definitely _not_ ready to just so he can make fun of him, or he’ll shove Steve’s keys down his underwear and make him pull them out, just to make him feel miserable.

Because that’s how Billy Hargrove is— He’s mean, he’s decidedly _not_ a good person, and he _evidently_ has a knack for riling Steve up. He might look better now, prettier, less angry, but Steve still _remembers_.

He sits on the hood of his car and lets his back fall flat against the windshield, pulling a cigarette pack out of his pocket.

He smokes one cig, taking long, _slow_ drags and shutting his eyes completely as his lungs fill with burning smoke and the chilly night breeze brushes against his skin. He smokes another, and then _another_. He doesn’t stop until the stinging sensation he’s experiencing leaves his hands and goes straight to his airways.

The sky is dark and starry, and behind Steve, the lights on Billy’s house are still on.

Steve has no idea of how long it takes for the realization to hit him; time’s going by way too slow, tonight. Way too fast. When it does, though, he feels shame bubbling inside of him, mixed with something else he can’t quite identify.

Billy didn’t come all the way from California to make Steve feel miserable.

Sure, traveling from one end of the country to the other to bully someone _does_ sound like a major dick move— And Billy _is_ a major dick, so he could totally pull it off, but, but,

But there’s something _genuine_ in the way Billy smiles at Steve now, in the way he _looks_ at him. In the way he had lifted his hands up and told Steve he wasn’t here to _‘kill his vibe’_ like he was afraid of scaring him off. There was something _genuine_ in the way he had refused to let Steve drive while drunk.

Billy’s definitely still a jerk, but he has changed, and Steve— Steve would love to see it.

 _Excitement_ ; that's the other feeling bubbling up inside of him.

Steve’s sneakers hit the floor with a thump, and he pads towards Billy’s doorstep _again_ , smelling like a goddamn chimney. He’s ready to beg Billy to open the door for him, totally okay with the idea of losing the little dignity he has left.

 _‘Please, let me in. I screwed up.’_ Steve thinks, as his right hand touches the door.

Screw embarrassment.

The thing is that the door is _still_ open just like Steve left it, and he’s only a little annoyed to admit that either he’s fucking _predictable_ , or Billy just knows Steve better than Steve knows himself, which, _rude_.

Walking towards the kitchen, he sees Billy doing the dishes, both of their coffee mugs already drying on a rack. He’s absently mumbling to a Lil Xan song, and holy _shit_ —

Steve _really_ likes this fucker.

Billy starts talking before Steve has a chance to voice it, though. “Should I call the police, pretty boy?” He leers softly, “I’m sure Chief Hopper will be happy to know that _confirmed golden boy Steve Harrington_ enjoys breaking into private property.”

Steve swallows audibly, and then he mutters, “You still have my car keys.”

Billy shrugs, doesn’t even bother to turn around and look at Steve, “On the table.”

 _Right_. They’re on top of that stupid table runner, ready to be taken. It’s pretty clear that Billy is not about to give Steve any sort of fight, and he’s free to go whenever he pleases.

Steve says nothing.

He just takes a step forward, and then falters. Inhales deeply through his nose, fidgeting, and then takes _another_ step forward. His jaw works, his nostrils flare, and then he takes another step forward. He does that until he can feel the heat radiating from Billy’s body, until his chest is pressed flush against Billy’s back.

It feels like absolute _heaven_. It’s almost overwhelming, and Steve doesn’t know if he wants to run away, _or_ —

He doesn’t allow himself to finish that thought, doesn’t allow himself to fuck this up. Instead, he lets his hands curl around Billy’s wrists, fingertips softly pressing to the pulse ticking through his veins. Billy is _real_ — He’s not a profile picture or a pixelated preview image; he has a beating heart and a gorgeous face and he’s _here_ ,

He’s in Hawkins. Because of _Steve_.

So.

So Steve’s fingers slide up until they’re framing hard biceps, and Billy lets go of the plate he was scrubbing with a shaky sigh. Steve squeezes, _feels_ , buries his nose in Billy’s golden curls and breathes in his scent until he’s dizzy with it.

He’s fully aware that he’s acting like a total _crackhead,_ right now, but he simply can’t find it in him to feel embarrassed, _too tired_ of overthinking— All that truly matters is that Billy’s here, and that his entire body is _shuddering_ , a soft ripple that seems to be going right down his back, as Steve presses his lips against his nape and kisses.

Billy turns to face him, slowly, and there’s a lazy, satisfied smile plastered on his face as he tilts his head back to look at Steve properly.

“So you came all the way back to Hawkins for my _dick_.” Steve tries taunting him, but his voice comes out soft and lacking venom.

Billy snorts, “ _Yeah_ , pretty much.” He tugs at Steve’s sleeves until they’re close enough to breath each other’s air, and Billy’s freckled nose scrunches up adorably, like he’s a whiskey-colored bunny.

“Is that… Is that _all_ you want?” Steve practically whispers, looking at Billy’s ocean blues, like he’s searching for a message in a bottle floating in them. “’Cause if that’s the case, then this has to be the most expensive, time-consuming _dick appointment_ ever.”

“You’re more than _that_ , pretty boy.” Billy bites his lower lip. “I feel like you should stop worrying so much about what everyone else wants, though. What do _you_ want?”

And, well. Billy is _so_ right it hurts, and maybe Steve’s just a little choked up by the fact that of all people, _Billy fucking Hargrove_ is the one to be asking him this. He screws his eyes shut, doesn’t trust them not to start getting watery.

 _Damn_ , Steve wants _lots_ of things. He _craves_ them, he’s _thirsty_ for them. He’s thirsty for _Billy_.

He follows Billy’s own advice about not rushing things, about taking them slow and easy, instead.

Without opening his eyes, he says, “I want _you_.”

He hears Billy’s breathing hick up, and feels a pair of warm hands framing his face. He keeps his eyes closed and braces himself for a kiss.

It doesn’t come. At least not where Steve is expecting it.

Instead, he feels soft lips pressing against his forehead. Then he feels them pressing on both of his cheeks. Then on his left brow. Then, as Billy guides his face up, to the tip of his nose.

Then, as Billy rubs himself against Steve, like a goddamn cat, he feels the rough drag of Billy’s stubble against Steve’s smooth temple.

“You’ve had me since high school, you know.”

“ _Jesus_ ,” Steve says, dumb, like Billy’s just cracked a plate over his head all over again, “I’m so _stupid_ ,”

“Don’t say that. You’re _not_ stupid.” Billy strokes a thumb against his cheek, makes their noses bump.

Steve’s the one to swipe in and _take_ — He’s done wasting time. He’s done being afraid. He catches Billy’s mouth with his own and _licks_ past his teeth. His arms curl around Billy’s neck, and Steve feels Billy’s hand flying to his waist, digging into the soft material of Steve’s sweater, _tugging_ on it.

Steve’s fingers spasm as they graze on Billy’s nape, and his entire body _jerks_ — The kiss is hungry and hot and wet and it tastes like coffee and smoke, and,

And it’s _perfect_. Just like Steve had imagined it would be while daydreaming, but also so much _better_.

 _Better_ , ‘cause Steve has been craving it for _weeks_ — No, _months_. An entire year, maybe. He’d been craving for it long before he even knew he _wanted_ it. Better, ‘cause Steve thought he’d _never_ get to have it, to have _this_ , to have _Billy_ —

 _Better_ , ‘cause now he knows that Billy wants him just as much as Steve wants him, and _that’s_ —

That’s _exactly_ what Steve had needed this whole time.

Billy shuffles them around, shoving Steve up against the kitchen island and pressing flush against him. It’s fucking hot, and if Billy doesn’t climb him like a tree within the following five seconds, Steve’s going to _cry_.

Billy pulls away, laughing, and tugs at Steve by the wrist, urging him to move.

Steve’s idiotic ass said that out loud too, didn’t he?

In Billy’s room, they kiss and touch like they’re desperately trying to crawl into each other’s skin, like they’re furiously trying to become _one_. It’s only when Steve is laying on Billy’s bed, propped on his elbows, no shirt and pants unzipped that he gets to see the dark wood, the walls covered in posters, the tidy little desk with a laptop on it, the general cleanliness of the space.

Who would have thought Billy Hargrove would be _this_ organized?

Billy’s shirtless figure is looming above him, though, and Steve can’t focus on anything else anymore. Billy’s legs brush against the inside of Steve’s thighs, and all the skin there tingles, despite the layers of fabric separating them.

"You gonna let me suck your dick, then, pretty boy? I feel like I earned it."

 _Fuck_.

Steve doesn’t think his brain is working properly anymore, and honestly, it’s not like he’s expecting it to, with all of the blood in his body flowing down to his dick. His plump, red-bitten lips hang open, breath panting through them, and he nods.

Billy grins mischievously and wastes no time in kneeling right in between Steve’s legs, reaching out to hook his fingers into his waistband. " _Fuck_ , Steve," he mutters, tugging the pants down over Steve's hips and then palming his heavy dick through slightly wet briefs. "You’re _so_ big."

It's hot and gratifying and Steve's utterly afraid he's going to come before Billy even gets his dick out if he keeps talking to him like this. His fingers twist Billy’s sheets as he stares down at him, shocked stupid at the sight of Billy, flushed and breathing heavy, eyeing Steve’s bulge like he _needs_ to have it in his mouth.

With a quiet chuckle, Billy licks two long stripes along Steve’s shaft through his underwear, before tugging it away and letting his painfully eager dick bob up to smear messily against his lips.

Steve’s can’t _pry_ his eyes away. He’s staring _so_ hard he’s probably going cross-eyed, but that’s _totally_ Billy’s fault— He’s making a show out of the whole thing, taking Steve in hand and guiding him right inside his hot, wet mouth, letting spit and pre trickle down his chin shamelessly, making these broken little sounds whenever Steve’s dick inevitably _kicks_ inside his mouth, looking up at Steve with oh-so-innocent eyes that get darker and _darker_ ,

Steve’s eyes roll back for a moment, and he decides that this is the _best_ blowjob of his entire fucking life.

It has him feeling like he’s died. Like he passed away sometime after Nancy broke up with him, and now he's just living out every single perverted fantasy he's had since he first laid eyes on Billy Hargrove, Certified Dumpster Fire. ‘Cause, like.

There's _no_ other explanation for this.

 _Nothing_ else can explain how he's lying on Billy's bed, while Billy kneels at his feet with his plush lips wrapped tight around Steve's dick. With Billy's heavy, _burning_ eyes locked on Steve's face, making Steve feel like he’s a silly butterfly under glass.

Billy swirls his tongue under the length of Steve's dick and he moans as Billy's slick tongue drags against the sensitive skin.

" _Billy_ ," Steve breathes, lifting weak fingers in an aborted gesture that means something Steve’s lips just _can’t_ spit out. The pleasure is too much, and he just lets his hand fall against the mattress again, defeated.

Billy pops off Steve's dick with a nasty, wet noise and licks his cherry red lips. "Wanna pull my hair?” He asks, like he knows exactly what Steve wants at all times, and Steve would hate it if only he didn't love it so much. “Do it.” He encourages, “Just, take it out of the bun, first."

Steve sighs gratefully, even though he’s sure he can’t follow instructions properly, right now.

He very carefully unwraps the bun from the elastic, and slips it free and onto his own wrist for safekeeping. He barely gets his fingers into the thick, gorgeous blond hair when Billy's mouth is already sinking back down the full length of him, until Steve feels himself hitting the back of Billy's throat.

He slumps, the back of his head sinking cozily into Billy’s pillow, and he tightens his fist in Billy's hair, moaning.

Billy hums, some kind of noise that vibrates up Steve's shaft, and it makes Steve’s eyes sting. Internally, he admits that he could probably cry from how _good_ this feels— Sloppy, and wet, and messy, and Billy’s setting the pace while Steve just holds on for dear life.

He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment until he realizes he's not looking at Billy, which is a fucking _crime_ , Steve decides, so he drags his gaze back down, loosening his grasp on Billy’s curls and reaching with his other hand to cradle the side of his face.

"Holy _shit_ ," he hisses through gritted teeth, " _Billy_ , you look _so_ good. I—I've never had—never felt _anything_ like this, nothing this _good_."

Billy must like that sweet talk, because he hums _again_ , the tip of his tongue flicking just _so_ under the head of Steve's dick, teasing him, drawing him closer to spilling out.

Steve bites on his bottom lip until he tastes copper, delirious with need. "You’re going to make _me_ —"

Billy pulls off Steve's slick dick before he can finish the sentence, replacing his mouth with a hand, stroking _slowly_. It throbs from base to tip, and a glob of precum oozes from the head, soaking Billy’s fingers. "But how are you gonna fuck me if you come, pretty boy?"

Billy’s laugh is slow and husky when Steve mutters a delirious little ‘ _shit’_. He wants that, _God_ , Steve _really_ wants that. He can’t begin to imagine just how good it would feel to have Billy squeezing tight around him. _Jesus_ , it makes his balls draw tight with want.

Suddenly Steve’s sitting on the edge of the bed, hands on Billy’s hips, and he’s dragging him into his lap with a strength he had no fucking clue he possessed. Billy swallows and looks at him with wide, dazed eyes, and it’s pretty obvious that he’s hot and bothered with the idea of Steve being able to manhandle him like that.

It feels right, to have Billy straddling him like this. He lets his hands roam freely through the expanse of tan skin, and because Steve’s feels like being curious, he places his lips around a hard nipple, teasing at it and the little metallic bar going through it, while his fingers pinch the free one in between them. Billy arches against his mouth, _squirms_ , and makes a sound that would probably be embarrassing if only it wasn’t hot as fuck— Steve pulls away just enough to look at Billy’s ecstatic face, and then he’s sucking again, harder this time, feeling Billy’s dick jump against his stomach.

So boy nipples _are_ that sensitive, huh?

Steve’s open mouth moves to Billy’s neck, and he bites and sucks like a wild little shit. There are red shapes blooming along Billy’s throat, all the way down to his collarbone. He feels Billy’s hand getting in his hair, twisting and _tugging_ , and he moans into Billy’s mouth when he bites Steve's bottom lip with sharp teeth.

“Easy there, pretty boy,” He pants against Steve’s mouth, running a soothing tongue over the skin he just bit, “I _know_ what you’re doing,”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve breathes, laughs a little and brings his hands to Billy’s thighs, just under his ass.

Steve’s not a pervert, okay?

He just wants everyone to see that Billy is _his_ , wants everyone to know that he finally pulled his head out of his ass, ‘cause now he knows better— And when Billy streams again, Steve wants his followers to see the marks all over his skin, wants them to know he can have _SuckMeDead_ in ways they’ll _never_ get to.

“Like _hell_ you don’t know,” Billy teases, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Steve’s neck with every word, breath hot and intoxicating.

So basically, Steve needs to get this boy out of his clothes _now_.

He tugs the string loose at the front of Billy’s joggers. There’s a wet spot right over his bulge, darkening the fabric to a deeper shade of gray. He slides the joggers down over the swell of Billy’s ass and _oh_ ,

He’s not wearing underwear.

Billy’s grin is wicked, and Steve can only look at him for so long before letting his gaze go down to the V of Billy’s hips, his dick, his thighs, toned and dusted in little blond hairs. Billy presses himself flush against Steve and starts mouthing his jaw.

It’s all too much; the heat, the delight, the turmoil of feelings.

“You feel so nice,” Billy says, and it’s… Soft. Innocent, almost. So different from the repertoire of lewd shit Steve’s used to hear from Billy’s mouth, but he decides that he fucking _loves_ it.

“You do, too.” Steve says. Billy grunts, a low, gravelly sound, and Steve isn’t really surprised when his dick twitches against his stomach. He knows Billy felt it too, can tell by the way he bites his lip and _rolls_ his hips. He leans down to kiss Steve, mouth open and tongue insistent as he pushes past the seam of Steve’s lips to lick into his mouth.

Steve slides his hands over Billy’s hips and down over the curve of his ass. It’s smooth, soft, and feels stupidly perfect against his palms. He _squeezes_ , takes in the way Billy’s breath hitches against his mouth, and squeezes again, digging his nails in this time, spreading his cheeks.

“ _Shit_ , I’m—” Billy pauses, dark eyes flicking up and down Steve’s face, and it feels like he forgets what he was about to say. Instead, he goes, “Fuck, _Stevie_. You’re _mad_ pretty.”

Steve licks his lips, “So you’ve said.”

“I really mean it.” Billy says, catching Steve’s lower lip with his teeth, sucking it into his mouth and flicking his tongue over the flesh. Steve gasps, gingerly sliding two fingers in between Billy’s cheeks with the lightest touch possible, just teasing, just exploring,

His breath hitches, though, when instead of touching Billy’s soft rim, Steve’s fingers find resistance. Something made out of a hard material —glass— sitting comfortably inside of him.

“Billy, _what_ —”

Billy’s laugh comes straight from the pit of his belly, and his skin flushes from his cheeks, all the way down to his sternum, “I’m sorry,” he says, but it lacks sincerity, “I was about to start streaming when you appeared.”

Of _course_.

Of _fucking_ course.

“Didn’t think _TheKing_ would show up at my door in the middle of the night on a Tuesday.” He continues, leaning closer and whispering against the shell of Steve’s ear, “You’re lucky you didn’t catch me with my entire _fist_ up my ass, honestly.”

“Oh, my _God_.” Steve keeps his hands on Billy’s hips as he looks at his freckled face, creases forming around his eyes from how wide he’s grinning.

So _this_ is why he had refused to sit while he was drinking coffee with Steve. This is why he had been wincing and flinching and shifting, like he was uncomfortable. He’s had a goddamn plug pressed inside of him for God knows how _long_ and is clearly amused to see that Steve is just finding out.

It’s kind of hot, honestly. To know that Billy has been stuffed full the whole time he’s been talking to Steve. To know that maybe he has clenched around it while fighting a hard on.

Steve reaches around and lets his fingers grip at the base of the plug. He doesn’t pull it out, he doesn’t even tug on it— He just _moves_ it a little, inside of Billy.

Billy gasps, wet and dirty, and Steve feels hot all over.

Steve pulls slightly at it, getting a little confident, and then pushes it back in, slowly. He’s pretty sure that Billy’s hips are rocking back against it on their own accord, and they both moan at the same time. 

“ _Uh_ _huh_ ,” Billy nods against the crook of Steve’s neck, _shudders_ , when Steve twists at the base of it.

Then he curses, then he _groans_.

With a steady hand, Steve dares to pull until the plug is almost all the way out, his other hand squeezing at Billy’s hip, and when he shoves it back in, Billy’s thighs tense up and he makes a little choked up sound, lifting his head to face Steve.

His pupils are blown out, his jaw is lax and his mouth is hanging open slightly, and _Steve_ — Steve fucking _remembers_ finding it to be the singularly _most_ annoying fucking thing on the planet. That Billy had to walk around like a Neanderthal, with his goddamn mouth open and now— now he thinks it’s fucking _hot_ , with one of the corners of his lips _twitching_ as the bulbous end of the plug slides in and out of him with a slick sound.

Love is a sickness, and lust is absolute madness.

When Billy sinks his nails on Steve’s shoulder as he digs under his pillow for a small bottle of lube he had conveniently hidden there for his late night camboy shenanigans, when he desperately squirts a huge amount of the clear substance on his hand and slicks Steve’s dick with eager strokes, it dawns on Steve that Billy has forever ruined regular, heterosexual intercourse for him.

“Get in me,” He moans into Steve’s mouth, “ _C’mon_ , I need to _feel_ you—”

The plug is gone immediately afterwards. Both of them fumble awkwardly with their pants and Steve’s underwear, clammy fingers sliding and slipping as they desperately get rid of their clothes. Billy smiles at him with a sense of affection Steve would have never guessed Billy Hargrove would be capable off, and then he’s crawling over him again, pushing Steve’s back against the bed.

Now, despite living a fairly sheltered life in a small town nobody knows about except for maybe the fucking _devil_ , Steve’s seen a ton of crazy shit in his time.

He witnessed a girl _almost_ dying in his backyard, _drowning_ in his pool while everyone else was drunk. He saw his now ex-girlfriend sneaking one of his classmates into her room, into her _bed_. He even walked in on the fucking _Major_ eating his secretary out during one of his dad’s so called _business parties_.

So he’s been interrogated by the Chief of police, he has been cheated on, and he has been scratched in the face with stiletto nails. He’s also had his ass handed to him. Once or twice; the first time he ended with a split lip, the second time he had pieces of broken ceramic in his hair for an entire week.

None of it— _none of it_ stunned him more than the sight of Billy’s tan, toned thighs _shaking_ as he sits on Steve’s dick.

There's a light sheen of sweat on his slitted brow and his hair, loose and messy, tumbles down around his face, framing it softly. Steve is _transfixed_. Billy moves with purpose, half-lidded eyes and parted lips.

The sounds that spill from his mouth as he lets Steve fill him completely—

“ _Fuck_ , I always knew you’d feel this _good_ —” _God_ , He's _beautiful_.

Steve has to try really hard not to jizz right there, because Billy is grinding on his dick, and muttering filth against his jaw, and he doesn’t really know how long he’s gonna last if Billy keeps pulling that stunt,

So when he lands a firm smack to Billy’s butt in order to shut him up, he’s really just doing it for his sanity.

Billy lets out a cry, a honest-to-god _cry_ — A sound that wrenches from the back of his throat as he jerks forward against Steve’s chest. Steve sucks in a sharp breath, afraid that maybe he went too far, too _hard_ , but then Billy is laughing into his collarbones, in between kisses and light little nips of teeth.

“ _There’s_ that fire,” Steve feels the blood rush in his head, realizing that Billy’s _never_ going to shut up, “do it again.”

Steve lands the flat of his palm against Billy’s ass again, immediately smoothing his hand over the reddening skin. Billy pants against his neck and rolls his hips _down_ , hissing when Steve digs his fingers into the skin, stilling his movements.

“You’re going to make me fucking _come_ , asshole.”

“Isn’t that the whole point of, like, fucking?”

Billy’s _right_. Steve just _doesn’t_ want it to end, unable to tell if this is real life or just another wet dream.

His eyes are on Steve’s face, and there’s a flush in his cheeks that is decidedly too cute for the wicked way he’s pushing Steve against the mattress, the color darkening the faster Billy takes him.

The slide is smooth, but _holy fuck_ —

“You’re so _tight_ ,”

‘ _Tight’_ is an understatement. Steve has been with girls who were _tight_ in the past; it had felt hot, and nice and it was a comfortably snug fit. _This_ — This is _not_ that.

This is a _vice_ _grip_ , squeezing Steve until he's dizzy, a burning hot friction that makes his breath hitch, a sob lodging itself under his sternum as his mouth opens silently. Billy feels better than anything he's ever had and _Steve_ —Steve can't even fuck him, can't make it go faster or slower, can't set the rhythm or the length of each stroke.

He can only lay there and take what Billy gives.

So Billy rises up again, the head of Steve's dick just barely kept inside, milked and squeezed, and then, with a swiftness that renders Steve breathless, he fucks down _again_ , taking all of him right to the base. Steve finally manages to inhale, _shuddering_ , that trapped sob knocked free of his chest, a needy moan escaping him as his fingers curl tighter around Billy’s hips.

He gives Steve a little crooked grin, “I’ve ruined pussy for you, haven’t I? You’re not going back to it, after this.”

He clenches intentionally, making Steve’s sight go blurry and with black spots around the edges.

“Fuck, _Billy_ —” Steve whimpers, “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ —”

Steve can feel the tremble in Billy’s arms, hands propped on Steve’s pectorals as he bounces on his dick, hips sinking down onto Steve’s length.

Steve gets a hand around Billy’s dick and twists on the upstroke. “ _Shit_ , Stevie. _Shit_ —”

Steve’s hips twitch involuntarily, and Billy licks his lips in response. He’s getting off on it, the little shit, and _Steve_ — Steve hardly has any room to judge, with how good this whole thing feels. “Oh, my God.”

“I’m gonna come all over _you_ ,” Billy tells him, almost meanly through clenched teeth, except that it sounds like a promise and Steve would probably _die_ if Billy actually did that. “Steve, _fuck_ —”

Steve brings his other hand up and _spits_ into it. Billy’s balls twitch, his entire body shivering when Steve gets both hands on his shaft. “ _Fuck_ , that’s _good_ — That’s good, don’t _stop_ —”

Steve feels heady. “I’m not,” he mutters, lips damp with spit, “ _Fuck_ , I’m not gonna— Fucking _stop_.”

Billy’s moans come out all breathless and broken, and Steve knows there’s not much longer now. Billy is barely letting Steve’s dick slide out, both of them just _rutting_ against each other, movements quick and jerky with desperation.

He rolls his hips forward hard, Steve still pumping him with both hands, and then he’s cursing, keening, _whining_. His hips jerk and he sobs Steve’s name, warm spurts of come making a mess of Steve’s knuckles and his stomach.

With Billy clenching around him furiously, there’s no way in hell Steve’s not gonna come. With a whine of his own, Steve arches up into Billy’s tight heat and spills inside of him.

It’s the hottest fucking thing Steve’s ever experienced. Billy rides both of their orgasms, folding over Steve, lips skimming up his collarbones and settling on his sweaty neck.

"Oh, my God," Steve says faintly.

" _Yeah_ ," Billy murmurs, lifting his head up and grinning at Steve with bright blue eyes. His blond curls are a mess falling across his face, and Steve’s pretty sure he wants to stay like this forever. “Hey.”

Steve smiles back, heady and unfocused, deeply overcome. “Hey.”

Something in the air is different. Softer. Like they’ve both been entrusted with something special, here.

“I think you should stay the night. If… If you want.” Billy looks a bit shy, “ _Unless_ —”

“Yeah.” Steve interrupts, “I’ll stay, yeah.”

\---

Steve is tired, like he usually is on early mornings. He barely possesses the physical strength necessary to fucking move, his body aches, he's got a scalded tongue and he’s awfully hungover. His hair is a crazy nest under the beanie he stole from Billy, he’s still wearing yesterday’s clothes, and even though he has every reason to be as irritated as humanly possible, he’s smiling like a goddamn moron.

When he gets out of his car, he sees Robin sitting cross-legged on his doorstep, right next to her bike, still wearing her helmet. Painfully _awake_ , ready to work.

He knows he should be ashamed, given the way she’s staring him up and down with wide eyes and a gaping mouth, but he simply doesn’t have it him to feel miserable about every little thing anymore— Not when he spent all night tangled with Billy in his bed, talking and making out and fucking _holding hands_ under the sheets. Even after waking up, Billy refused to let him go until he had breakfast in his tummy and his phone number on his pocket.

And Steve still has Billy's red hair tie around his wrist.

“You absolute freaking _slut_ ,” She says, reaching out to touch the hem of his sweater, “Tell me _everything_.”

\---

The next time Steve sees Billy, he’s barging in the café with Max, Eleven and Will in tow. Will looks like he has finally learned how to keep his shit together when he’s around Billy, bless his tiny heart.

When Billy approaches the register, Robin elbows Steve’s ribs softly and giggles.

“Welcome to _The Palace_ Café,” Robin squeals like she’s ready to vibrate out of her skin, all fabricated saccharine, “How can we help you?”

Billy scrunches his nose _again_ , and Steve just wants him to step on his throat. “Just, whatever the little shit-stains want.” He says gesturing absently at the kids, who are snuggled comfortably on a table by now, “I also wanna swap spit with the cute barista.”

It’s not something Steve expects to feel in his balls, but God, he _does_.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Robin says, suddenly dry, crossing her arms over her chest, “What’s in it for me?”

As if on cue, Billy places two paper bags in front of them, and they crinkle with the movement. She looks at Steve with furrowed eyebrows, but Steve just shrugs. He has no fucking idea of what the bags could possibly contain— He didn’t even know Billy would show up, today.

She opens the crumpled end of her bag and makes a weird sound, burying her face inside of it and inhaling deeply.

“…Did you bring her _coke_?” Steve questions, staring at Robin with wide eyes.

“Better.” Billy corrects, looking a little too smug.

“Lasagna from that Italian joint down the street!” She screeches. “I think you and I could get along, Hargrove.”

“That sounds legit. I always wanted to have a dyke friend.” He sneers, and she flips him off, still grinning like a maniac.

“ _Oh_ , I’m kinda bummed,” Steve murmurs, opening his bag to find the same thing inside of it, “I was expecting a dildo, honestly.”

Steve doesn’t know why he says the things he does, sometimes.

Still, it manages to make Billy’s face go beet red, so Steve can consider it to be a small victory.

Arching one eyebrow, Billy hooks his fingers around his belt loops, trying to regain composure. “I’m sorry, pretty boy. Not until our third date.”

“ _Hey_ ,” Robin grumbles around a mouthful of lasagna, fork gesturing between the two boys, “I thought you guys were fucking, not _dating_ ,”

“ _Robin_ —”

“Looks like I’m gonna have to befriend Billy right here so he can plug me on the juicy stuff, since you refuse to talk to me,”

“Robin, I _swear_ —”

“Okay, _alright_.” She says, lifting her fork up defensively, “You can leave. Make it an early lunch— You can even stay with him for a little longer, if you want.”

Steve squeezes his hands around the paper bag, crumpling the end of it, “I, uh— _really_?” Steve asks, but he’s already rounding the countertop and standing beside Billy, refusing to give her a chance to change her mind.

“ _Yeah_ , I’ll be fine.” She shrugs, “But, _Billy_?”

“Yeah?” He asks, sneaking a hand around Steve’s waist.

“If he comes back and has a hair out of place,” She pauses, looks up and scratches her head, “that isn’t a direct result of mind blowing sex, I will cut your dick off.”

“ _Robin_!”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that was a roller-coaster, huh.  
> Hope you enjoyed it! I chipped away at it for almost four weeks, in between work and kitten-fostering.  
> Feedback is always appreciated!


End file.
